


Rough Seas

by brorannasaursrex



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: All to come, Alternate Universe - Pirates, Angst, Cussing, Eventual Happy Ending, Fighting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Keith and Shiro are half siblings, Keith is a prince, Laith, Lance is a pirate, M/M, Minor Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Pidge is a trans boy, Pirates AU, Slow Burn, Swearing, Tags May Change, homophobia is going to be discussed later, it is lowkey set in a time where you can be imprisoned for being gay, klance, they're all in their mid twenties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-08-19 10:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8202236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brorannasaursrex/pseuds/brorannasaursrex
Summary: Keith was just following the king's orders; Lance just wanted some fame.Keith wasn't expecting to be reduced to a thrall; Lance wasn't expecting to fall in love with his bartering tool.Neither knew what rough seas lie ahead





	1. A requested adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted a pirates AU, and I couldn't find one, so I made one. I proof read once, but if you see something and it bothers you, just comment about it or something. I probably won't get to update often, sorry. I'm a really busy person.
> 
> If you like, good, you should let me know. If you don't, oh well, but constructive criticism is good, if you want it to give it.
> 
> If you're curious, this is [my tumblr](http://hector-the-glorious.tumblr.com/). Please don't judge my theme, I'm too lazy to screw with it and I really only get on tumblr on my phone.

Wiping beads of sweat off his forehead, Keith straightened up and stretched, trying to work his muscles out of the position he had them in as he hunched over the side of the boat, watching the waves lap at the port side of the ship. Keith skirted past the busy crewmen and walked up to the raised bow of the ship. With a polite nod to the captain, he rested his arms on the front lip of the ship and looked out onto the horizon. Endless expanses of blue stretched out in every direction, and he sighed into the breeze ruffling his hair.

 

The deck creaked behind him, and he saw the captain settle next to him, leaning against the wood. “It’s a fine day out, your highness. Enjoying the trip?” He chirped inquisitively.

 

“It’s calm, I suppose,” Keith responded quietly. “There isn’t much to do, though, Coran. It’s too crowded to stretch and practice my maneuvers.”

 

Coran laughed through his bushy mustache. “We’ve only been gone six days, your majesty. We should have about forty-four days to go. You mustn’t get this way so soon.” Seeing a deep frown form on Keith’s face, Coran patted his shoulder comfortingly. “When we get there, you can have all the time to train you want. Don’t sulk, or you’ll make the crew anxious,” he added seriously.

 

Keith turned away from the wood, leaning his back on it and facing the back of the ship. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He chuckled, responding “you know, if we hadn’t left our cook, this trip would have been much less miserable.”

 

Coran gasped, offended. “I’m a fantastic cook, your highness, and I have trained some of the crew very well! You just haven’t come to appreciate the nutritional value of my cuisine!”

 

“I think you can have the same value in edible food,” Keith grunted back.

 

Coran shook his head, frowning. “It was a wise decision of the king to send you on this voyage. Maybe you’ll step into line,” he announced.

 

“I take my responsibilities seriously,” Keith said defensively. “I have to be the best for the kingdom.”

 

“You need to focus more on the people and less on your swordsmanship. You’re already brilliant with military tactics, but you need to learn more about diplomacy,” Coran pointed out. He had planned on continuing, but was interrupted by a burly crewman running up, panting heavily from what Keith assumed was running around the deck while working, then running back to the front. He bowed to Keith, muttering a reverent “your highness,” then turned to Coran, dipping his head with a respectful “sir” on his lips before continuing.

 

“I’m dreadfully sorry for interrupting you, but the call hasn’t been made for night yet, and it’s getting late. Should I tell the crew to act accordingly?” he asked quickly.

 

Coran tilted his head back, looking at the darkening sky, before looking back at the crewman. “Yes, of course, thank you for reminding me. Send the order,” he commanded the sailor. The sailor dipped his head and bowed once again before running off, barking orders to the crew members on deck. Most of them quickly finished up the task they were working on before going to the lower decks to eat and do some cleaning before retiring for the night. Coran was very fickle about the ship being as clean as possible and had time every day for making it shine.

 

“I have some duties to complete before I must retire, so I will be going. You should eat; I gave the boys a special recipe of mine. I’m sure you’ll love it; it’s quite delectable,” Coran boasted before nodding and walking off. Keith watched as he disappeared into his quarters, and then let his eyes drift to the men coming out of the lower decks, preparing for night watch. He straightened up after a few minutes of observing quietly, stepping down from the raised portion of the deck. Latching his hand to the web of ropes from the side of the ship to the mast, Keith pulled himself up and climbed a bit higher before tangling his legs in the ropes and relaxing his body. He stared out to the horizon, admiring the deep red and orange the sky had painted the ocean with. He closed his eyes, feeling the breeze rustle his hair as he leaned on the ropes and listened to the creaking of the ship.

 

When he opened his eyes again, the sky had fallen below the horizon and most of the below-deck hum had stopped emanating from the stairwell. He rubbed his eyes sleepily, realizing he must have fallen asleep. His neck was sore from being tilted against the rope and his legs burned from the continuous rubbing. He untangled himself and climbed back down to the upper deck, a surprised gasp escaping the nearby crewman who didn’t notice Keith’s presence. Keith nodded at the sailor as he stumbled over himself to bow. He hated how everyone acted like he was some god or something; it left him feeling really isolated.

 

He slipped down the stairs and into the deserted mess hall to investigate the food that wasn’t eaten. He discovered some green mush in a pot, wiggling rather unpleasantly when he disturbed it. His nose wrinkled, and he closed the pot. He opened up a nearby sack, pulling out an apple. With a shrug, he rubbed it on his shirt and took a bite out of it. He went back up to the upper deck and climbed into one of the long boats lining the edges. He ate his apple, lying on his back as he gazed up at the stars. He threw his empty core into the water and rubbed his lips with the back of his hand before letting himself drift off to sleep.

 

The next morning, the hunger gnawing at his stomach and the sunlight on his face coaxed Keith to sneak into the mess hall. To his misfortune, he found it packed, as it must have been early enough for Coran to wake everyone up. He sighed to himself and trudged up to the ledge where Coran was putting out food. “Good morning, your highness! I’m charmed you’re joining everyone for a meal,” Coran practically shouted. Keith glanced around, not having the heart to tell Coran he wasn’t planning on eating in the mess hall. Keith muttered a good morning back as he took the bowl Coran was offering to him. Sitting down at the end of a table filled with quietly eating men, Keith started to slowly eat the brown mush. It tasted rancid, but Coran was beaming at him from across the room, so he couldn’t muster the heart to stop eating it.

 

The other men at the table soon finished and left, and Keith was alone again with still half of his food. Another group of men came in to get their food, and Keith had expected them to sit with him because he was at the only open table in the room, but they just looked at the seats forlornly and sat against the wall on the opposite side of the wall. He felt a pang in his heart as he watched the people around him enjoying themselves when everyone acted like he was someone who couldn’t be associated with. He hated being surrounded by the annoying courtiers and the vain nobles. But it didn’t matter, he told himself. He finished his food and got up, giving his bowl to Coran before leaving.

 

Blinding light hit him, and he squinted as he looked around the deck. He wanted to do something useful, but most of the ship was in better shape than he could make it. He convinced himself that he loosened the rope net, so he spent most of his morning tightening the knots until he reached the top. He climbed into the crow’s nest, startling the person manning it. “Your majesty,” he exclaimed with a bow, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

Keith waved his hand dismissively. “I just wanted to check this area. I haven’t been up here yet,” he said, only half lying. “Can I borrow your spyglass?” The sailor nodded and offered the object sitting on his hip to his prince. Keith extended the body and looked around. He slowly turned, taking in the surrounding. Mostly, there wasn’t much to talk about. There was the ocean, the other ship, and not much else. The only thing that was really interesting was the dark mass on the edge of the horizon, still difficult to make out. “Is that a ship?” Keith absentmindedly asked himself, but the crewman ended up responding, asking for the spyglass back to look.

 

When the spyglass was back in his hands, the sailors chubby body leaned over the edge of the crow’s next as he peered through the lens. “No, your majesty, probably just a rock,” the sailor responded brightly.

 

Keith frowned. “Are you sure? I don’t recall seeing it earlier, and it seems odd that there is such a large rock this far out above the water.”

 

The sailor laughed. “Don’t worry about it, sir. You’re just not used to the ways of the water, and you wouldn’t have been able to see it without a glass. I’ve been spotting for years, so I know it,” he told Keith, attempting to comfort him. But Keith didn’t want comfort, so his frown just deepened. The sailor smiled at him gently, before saying “Would you like me to watch it, your majesty?”

 

Keith looked back towards the…thing, unable to see it from this far, then back towards the sailor. “Do whatever you feel is right,” he sighed before crawling over the edge and back onto the web, the sailor sputtering out a respectful “sir” as Keith went. He returned to the upper deck, running into Coran.

 

“Keith, my boy! Where did you come from? Did you need something?” Coran questioned him as he bowed slightly.

 

Keith hesitated for a moment before asking “Can you spare one of your men? I would like to train.”

 

Coran laughed. “I don’t know if I should allow that. You might work the one too hard, and end up exhausting all my men! Nonetheless, we haven’t much to do this afternoon, so I can spare a few. Take up to three, if you would so please, but leave Lawrence and Jacobs. I need those two.”

 

“Thank you,” Keith responded as he turned with a slight wave. He approached three of the crew members, all ones who were known for being stronger in the bunch, and asked them to work with him. They accepted, and Keith took them down to the mess hall. Under his orders, the four of them moved the tables and benches and other obstructions to the sides of the room, opening up some space in the middle. Keith invited one to come forth and fight, while the other two were asked to sit. He cycled through them, giving them each a chance to lose and regain their strength, for several hours, until someone came down, calling out that it was time for night preparation. The four quickly reassembled the room as Coran came down to start dishing out his quickly thrown together meals.

 

People started filing in as Coran started stacking up bowls. Soon, the bowls were disappearing faster than they were being made, and a line started to form. Keith patiently got into the back of it, waiting until he got to the front to eat. Coran barely had time to flash him a friendly smile before he turned around to get the next set of bowls. Keith sat down at a mostly empty table, save the sailor at the crow’s nest and Mr. Jacobs. He didn’t start a conversation with them, so they didn’t start one with him, keeping to themselves. Keith hurriedly finished his food, eager to get out of the hot room, and went to the upper deck. Taking a broom, Keith started sweeping the upper deck of the dirt that had been taking from the lower decks to upper desks from the shoes of the crew. He took his time sweeping, not finishing until the sun had fallen from the horizon. With a sigh, he swept the dirt into a bucket and dumped the bucket over the water. When particles stopped falling from in, he set it down along with the broom and went to the bow of the ship, leaning against the wooden lip.

 

He took a deep breath, salty air filing his lungs. Noting the lamp at the front of the boat had still not been lit, he relighted it, before looking out at the sea in front of him. There really was not much to do on this ship, except some work that most people wouldn’t allow Keith to do because they felt they couldn’t let the king find out that they put his only living heir to commoner’s work. Keith didn’t know if he could keep this up for two months. He sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. He slumped over the edge for a few minutes, before he willed himself to get up and go to his chamber. He headed down the deck to the staircase, pausing before he went down.

 

He glanced over his shoulder once more, looking at the ship following them, filled with more supplies, men, and weapons. That ship acted more as a guard ship. When Keith asked why he wasn’t on the ship, everyone told him it was for his own safety because it would be attacked first and his ship would have time to escape. As he was turning away, he second thought himself and turned around, seeing Kilo and Lima waving from one of the masts. His eyes squinted into the darkness, seeing a second ship with Charlie and Mike waving back, illuminated by a light post. On another mast, he saw the Altean flag fluttering proudly. Keith turned away, noticing a dense fog creeping over the boats. With a shutter, he went down to the lower deck that housed his chamber for the journey. Altea was an ally of the kingdom, so he wasn’t much worried about it, more concerned with his sleep-heavy eyelids. Falling into his rough bed, Keith drifted off to sleep.

 

 

In what felt like seconds later, Keith was awoken again by the jostling of the boat. He jolted upright, looking around for clues of what happened. A few seconds later, the door flung open, Coran rushing in. “Quick, hide, there is no time to spare,” he whispered frantically, pulling Keith out of bed and to his feet. Keith, a little dazed, let Coran push him into a chest and drop a dagger in with him. “Poke some holes to breathe with that. Stay hidden. I must go,” Coran quickly told him in a hushed voice, closing the chest lid and putting something Keith couldn’t identify on top of it.

 

Keith obediently poked narrow slits into the chest, then wiggled so his back was pressed against the bottom of the chest. He curled his legs so he would be able to kick anyone investigating the chest. He gripped the dagger close to his chest and quietly sat for a few minutes. Keith listened as hard as he could, straining to make out anything that sounded like a struggle. He wanted to help the crew, but he knew that they may not start to fight unless they think the prize is great enough, and a prince from a rich kingdom tends to fetch a high ransom. A minute more passed, and he heard nothing except the creaking of feet and a distinct bang of wood slamming on wood. He pushed at the top experimentally with his feet, trying to see if he could get out of the chest if he wanted to. The top didn’t budge, so he pushed a little harder, the chest straining against the forces on it. Keith froze when he heard the movement above him rapidly increase, and he grunted as he steeled himself with the desire to get out. He released the dagger and put his hands on the lid and pushed as hard as he could with this arms and legs.

 

“How did Coran get this on here,” he muttered to himself, although he knew that he was probably getting difficultly because the object was sliding against the wall and his weight prevented the chest from moving, stopping the lid from reaching past a certain point. He slowly flipped over, struggling to move in the small space. He positioned his feet against the slits he carved on the wall, pulling back before kicking with as much force as he could muster with his limited range of movement. With a loud crack, the wood of the chest gave out and splintered, opening a little hole. Keith kicked it again at the edges, trying to widen the hole. Once he felt that he had gotten it wide enough, he carefully pushed himself out of the chest, his hands pressing against the other wall of the chest and his feet inching across the floor of the chamber. He sighed once he had fully escaped from the chest, clutching his dagger as he stood up.

 

He started to creep up to the door, before turning around to retrieve a long sword. He returned to the door silently, his dagger in one hand and military sword in the other. He paused by his door, listening closely. Not hearing any movement, he opened the door, wincing as it loudly creaked. He slipped outside and into the open door way in the room across from him, using a barrel and a corner as cover as he listened closely. He heard unfamiliar voices outside, but no struggle. He hesitated, wondering if it was just the Altean ship. Perhaps it had come too close and alarmed the crew, making Coran panic, and he just hadn’t come back down yet since it was customary for Altean sailors to communicate captain to captain. He listened closer, straining to make out the words they were saying. He stood up and shifted closer to the still open door.

 

“Where’s the prince, what was it…Coran?” he heard a voice say. The voice sounded sweet, but his words were laced with sinister teasing, like an animal playing with their prey. Coran’s voice came down much more clearly, angrily saying that Keith was in the other ship. He heard a little laugh. “Look, mustache, we know he’s here. We’ve already visited your friends in the other ship. You might as well just tell us the truth,” the voice responded slowly, cockily. There was no response. After a minute of silence, he heard the voice say more loudly, “Check the ship, except you five, start dealing with crowd control. I want mustache and the prince, and let’s throw in the youngest and the most eager sailor too. Don’t disappoint me,” he finished almost playfully. “Me and you, mustache, are going to look at your lovely quarters.”

 

Keith returned to his corner quickly as footsteps thundered down the stairs. He listened as another man barked out different orders for inspection. Most people ran past the room, but once most of the people had passed, he heard someone enter. He clenched his fists around his weapons as he stayed squatting in the corner. The man walked to the center of the room, swaying his massive head from side to side as his held a lantern in front of him. He moved forward, going to look in the back of the room. Keith slowly started to follow after him, careful to step as the man stepped. Keith slunk along the walls, sticking to the shadows. The man was opening crates and barrels, not paying attention to the room around him. Keith creeped up to the counter and braced himself, sliding his sword into his belt.

 

When the man turned around, Keith pounced on him, his hand moving to clamp over the intruder’s mouth and pressing the dagger to his neck. The intruder didn’t take mind of the dagger, his hand reaching up to claw at Keith’s hand as he kicked Keith’s leg. Keith stood his ground, trying to drag the taller man down. The intruder flipped Keith over his back, counteracting the weight he was putting on dragging the man down. Keith slammed into a barrel and went limp from shock for a moment. The man grabbed him and slung him over his shoulder, his hands clamped around Keith’s ankles like iron.

 

Keith regained his composure as the man started walking to leave the room. Launching his body back, Keith grabbed the hair of his carrier and knocked him off balance, dragging the man to the ground as he let out an angry shout. As they fell, the man loosened his grip on Keith’s ankles, and Keith kicked out from his grip, pushing against the man’s chest to propel himself out from under him to prevent being squished. Keith hit the ground a second before the other man and scrambled to his feet, even though his sore body cried out against it. He pulled the sword out of his belt, not noticing the red on it already. He walked to the man and put his foot on his head and his sword at his neck. The man jerked his head, knocking Keith’s foot into his sword, making it raise out of its position. Rolling over, he grabbed Keith’s leg and rolled again, dragging Keith to the ground, his mouth open in a silent scream as his leg was twisted and he accidentally let go of his sword. The man put his hand on Keith’s throat, applying enough pressure to cause Keith to lurch in panic.

 

“Help, I found him,” the man yelled out to his comrades, spit falling onto Keith’s face. Two other men appeared in the doorway almost instantly and rushed in to help the first man. Keith’s legs flailed to the best of their ability, and he clawed at his captor’s face in a desperate attempt to get released. The two new men bent down and grabbed Keith below his arm pits. The first man squirmed off of him and the others dragged him upward. Keith jerked his arms and kicked at his captors, but he was a bit dizzy from lack of oxygen. The men dragged him out of the room with the other one following closely behind. The first man went down the deck to alert the others that they would stop looking because the fresh men were pulling him up the stairs, albeit slowly because Keith kept sticking his feet between the stairs to slow them down.

 

They threw him down on the deck, and he felt a handful of his hair pulled, forcing his head to look upward while another set of hands roughly bound his wrists. Keith thrashed against them, but they ended up just tightening their grip and knot. The one holding his hair shook his head slightly, the man tying his hands moving on to his legs, and called out “Found him, captain. He gave Duley some trouble, so we had to help collect the brat.”

 

Keith did his best to glare at the man, but he couldn’t see him well in his position, so he looked in front of him. Not far in front of him, a pompously dressed man turned around with a smile, his white teeth striking against his olive skin. He started walking towards Keith, his smile fading to a simple smirk, his heeled shoes making the deck creak and his blue hat falling over his eyes. Keith sneered at him, and he had to stoop down to look Keith in the eye since he was still kneeling.

 

“So this is Keith, only heir to the kingdom of Voltron, military genius,” he listed off with a fake lightness, staring him in the eye, “and _would be_ world-traveler,” emphasizing “would be” as a taunt, his breath leaking with the idea of “but not anymore.” He grabbed Keith’s chin, fingers tight enough to guide his head but not enough to hurt. Leaning Keith’s head to the left, the captain clicked his tongue at Keith. “Everyone said you were handsome, but, with the way everyone talked about you, I expected more.” He tilted Keith’s head to the right, ignoring the deadly stare Keith gave him. Keith lurched his head back, slipping his jaw out of the unfamiliar grip. The captain smirked at him, moving his hand to run his hand through Keith’s hair, saying through chuckles, “But, damn, this hair really ruins it. Why would you ruin such a pretty face with such an awful hairstyle?” He pulled his hand out of Keith’s hair and smiled at Keith. “Don’t look so mad, pretty boy. You’ll have fun. I bet this’ll be the most interesting part of your journey.”

 

Keith’s brow furrowed and his nose flared, leaning forward and spitting in Lance’s face. The man was taken aback, wiping at his face while lurching backwards. Keith took the chance to look around the rest of the deck, unable to find the vast majority of the crew, save Coran and a few other people. Keith’s face turned unnaturally pale. “Where is the crew?” Keith snarled out, regaining his composure.

 

The captain looked back at Keith, his hand falling from his face as a smile replaced it. “Don’t worry, they’re alive, for now. They’re tied up in your hold. We’ll take what we need and see how they fare in the face of adversary.”

 

Keith lurched forward to attack and, forgetting the hand still fisted in his hair, groaned in pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw unfamiliar faces bringing out crates, and one person burst out from Coran’s quarters, arms filled with maps and books. When his eyes drifted to watch them cross the wooden board to make a bridge to the other boat, a hand waved in his face.

 

“Hey, eyes on me,” the captain commanded, drawing Keith’s attention. Before Keith could respond, the man said “You should be appreciating that you get caught by me, of all people!”

 

Keith’s drew one side of his lip upward. “Why, in all of hell, would I know who you are,” Keith spat out venomously.

 

The captain looked offended. “You’ve never heard of ME?” he screeched. “Me, Captain Lance, the Blue Banshee, terror of this side of the sea?”

 

“No,” Keith responded flatly.

 

Keith felt sick pleasure when Lance’s expression fell to disappointment. “Lock him up, along with those three. Make sure that one is dealt with,” Lance commanded the three of his men that were on the upper deck. The man with the other three of Keith’s crew pushed them towards the makeshift bridge, leading them to a lower deck of the other ship. Two sets of hands firmly grabbed his shoulder and sharply pulled him upward. He grunted at them, letting them carrying him for a few seconds before he pulled his legs up, twisted his body, and thrust his legs out, kicking the man to the right down. Keith fell heavily, searing pain going up this leg. He looked down, seeing blood soaking through his pants and a long rip in the fabric. A couple of the people coming back to get supplies rushed over to grab Keith again.

 

Lance walked back over. “You really are feisty, aren’tcha,” He teased as he bent down to inspect Keith’s leg. He rubbed his fingers painfully over the wound, and Keith felt deep inside that Lance did that just do make him whimper in pain. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Lance looked up at his men, saying “see to him once you put him away. He must be healthy, after all.” Keith felt three hands grab him this time, two under his shoulders and one cradling his legs, and didn’t really have the strength left to wiggle out of the situation. They boarded the other ship and carried Keith down to a cramped, musty room, kicking open a little cell and laying him on a cold, wooden platform. They untied the bindings on him before leaving the cell and locking the door behind them. Keith left out a shaky sigh and shut his eyes.

 

 _Lance was right, I guess,_ Keith thought to himself, _I guess this is the most interesting part of our trip so far._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie: Affirmative  
> Kilo: I wish to communicate with you  
> Lima: You should stop your vessel instantly  
> Mike: My vessel is stopped and making no way through the water
> 
> I probably completely used those wrong, but ehhhhhhhhhh. It's also inaccurate to pirate times, but ehhhhhhhhhh. You will find there are many historical inaccuracies. Sorry if that bothers you, but I just wanted old style pirates but with a bit of the ease of some modern techniques and what not.


	2. The First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith had a rough first day, and Lance is a huge jerk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the long break. I had a bit of motivational issues, and then school started piling up and ugh.
> 
> Anyway, here's the second chapter! I hope you like it! Again, constructive criticism, praise, corrections, comments, thoughts, questions, suggestions, a 'hello': I'm all for it. I proof read the last chapter finally ((really sorry for all those mistakes. Sometimes I had trouble figuring out what I meant it was so bad )), and I proof read this one once as well.
> 
> Are there historical inaccuracies? Yes. Especially in vernacular? Yes. Do I care? Eh, not really. This is totally self-indulgent, so I'm not too worried about all the nit-picky stuff.
> 
> If you're curious, this is [my tumblr](http://hector-the-glorious.tumblr.com/). feel free to say hi or ask me something or reference me if you need to for some reason.

Keith woke up with a slap to the face. Stiff, and a little disoriented, he jolted upright, ramming his nose into someone’s jaw. “Fuck!” Keith shouted as he cupped his nose and squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“Good to see you too,” a familiar voice hissed back.

 

Keith’s eyes snapped open and he turned his head to look at the man. Although the long scar on his nose was new, Keith would know that face anywhere. “Shiro,” he said in surprise.

 

Shiro’s hand dropped from his jaw. “I was hoping we would meet again with a little less pain and strife involved, but here I am,” he responded with a smile, before adding more quietly, “Here we are.”

 

Keith let his hands fall from his nose, since it wasn’t bleeding and the pain had dulled to a gentle throb, and his mouth opened, closed, and opened again. He let out a small chocked sound, before swallowing. “We all thought you died,” he said, hurt seeping out through his words. He left? And on a pirate ship nonetheless? Without telling him anything? Keith was angry; Keith was relieved. Keith was elated; Keith was crushed. But, mostly, Keith was stunned; he had thought Shiro trusted him, but he left without a word. Not even one to his brother and friend? Maybe they weren’t as close as he had thought.

 

 

Shiro scratched the back of his neck, straightening up from the position his was in before. “I wasn’t expecting to leave so soon,” his voice trailed off. He glanced down at Keith’s leg. “We thought you might have passed out because of blood loss when you didn’t wake up quickly, although that would have been odd considering the severity of it,” he said as he twisted his body to pull up Keith’s pant leg with his left hand. “Or lack thereof,” he added playfully.

 

At that moment, Keith noticed the limp sleeve on Shiro’s right side. “What happened to your—,“ Keith was cut off, hissing in pain, as Shiro pulled his pant leg up a little too quickly and rubbed his hand painfully against his wound.

 

Shiro looked up at Keith apologetically. “My arm?” Shiro finished for him, carefully leaning toward Keith’s calf to examine the wound. Keith mumbled affirmatively as Shiro stood up and turned around, reaching into a bucket on the floor, pulling out a wet rag. He turned back around to Keith, sat down, and started slowly cleaning the area around the wound with cold water. “I’ll tell you later. How is my mother?” Shiro said, not looking away from his work.

 

Keith chuckled, distracted from his emotions for the time being, but it was halted by a wince as Shiro moved closer to his cut. “She’s a mess. She walks around, moaning about how she’s too old to have children and sobbing about your disappearance,” Keith said with a bit of scorn.

 

Shiro chuckled bitterly. “Sad she can’t get her line on the throne, no doubt.”

 

“She always was a single-minded woman,” Keith added, watching Shiro turn to wet the rag again and return to his work.

 

Shiro looked up at Keith seriously. “I’m going to move on to your cut, so please relax a little,” he told Keith as he slowly moved the rag up from his ankle. “How’s the old king?”

 

“Still the same,” he said before grunting slightly from pain, then shaking it of. “Since you left, he stopped supporting my interest in the military and started forcing me to worry more about finance and diplomacy. He started arranging a marriage with another one of the Altean nobility. He never thought I would make as good of a king as you, though. He was hoping to find someone as strong in leadership as Allura so they could make me a good king, but he couldn’t find anyone, so he was trying to send me to one of the colonies to see if I could learn there.”

 

Shiro laughed quietly. “Still as supportive as always,” he joked, finishing cleaning the cut. He sighed and stood up. “You’ll live. It looked worse than it actually was. I’ll get a bandage. Stay here,” he commanded Keith as he walked out of the open door, closing it with a click of the lock catching.

 

Keith looked after him in surprise. Shiro said for him to stay here, yet he locked the door? Maybe Shiro really didn’t trust him anymore. He squirmed so that he was sitting upright, and he sighed heavily, hitting his head against the wall behind him. He had told himself he would give the world to see Shiro again, but, now that he actually has seen him again, he found that Shiro’s return to his life is just making him feel worse.

 

Then again, maybe there was some explanation to it all. Maybe Shiro just didn’t want Keith to follow him so he wouldn’t get hurt, or he was forced against his will to leave immediately. Maybe he just didn’t want to bring up all the trials he went through in the time they were away. Maybe they could regain what they lost.

 

Keith’s thoughts were interrupted by the door flying open and slamming into the wooden wall behind it. Keith’s head lurched toward the door, seeing Lance enter in, carting Coran behind him.

 

“We’ll find something else for you to do, mustache. Cooking isn’t your specialty,” Lance said as he guided Coran back to his cell across the room.

 

“I would have you know that I was the chef of our crew, and they enjoyed my cooking for every meal,” Coran responded, a bit too loudly, as Lance closed and locked the door on him.

 

Lance looked at Keith, who was watching him with narrowed eyes, and smiled. “Food fit for a Keith,” Lance joked. Keith raised an eyebrow at him, but gave him no other response. Lance moved over to Keith’s cell, using a small key to open the door. Keith stood defensively as Lance entered the cramped space and offered him a small pile of clothing. “Change,” he commanded Keith.

 

Keith sniffed and tilted his head up slightly. “What if I say no,” he responded defiantly.

 

Lance snorted at him. “Then you can sit around in your bloody pants until you learn to appreciate what you’re given. Please understand, your majesty, that you can do whatever you want as long as you don’t break the rules,” He replied, his body flourishing in gestures of mocking respect. He tossed the clothes onto the bench beside Keith and stepped to the other side of the door, closing the door behind him.

 

“I’m not breaking the rules now, yet I’m locked in a cell, captain,” Keith responded, mimicking Lance’s fake courtesy, ignoring the pain that shot through his leg when he put too much weight on it.

 

“We thought it would be fitting for you, your greatness,” he said, not losing his tone.

 

Keith sat back down on the bench, tired of that game, and looked over the clothes given to him. He pulled out the pants and held it in front of him for a few seconds before turning them towards Lance. “Do you really think this will fit me? It’s twice the size of my hips,” Keith said sharply.

 

Lance glanced at them and shrugged. “I gave you some rope; figure it out. We don’t have anything else,” Lance casually threw over his shoulder as he walked to the door. “We’ll find something to keep you two entertained some other time,” he called to them jokingly as he closed the door.

 

Keith huffed as he tore off his shirt, tossing it into the back corner of his space, and started to squirm out of his pants. Coran sat down and watched the wall, knowing from enough time that he wouldn’t be appreciated for watching. “Feeling better, Keith?” he asked, his voice loud and chipper, as normal.

 

Keith got the cloth past his thighs and slide them off, kicking them beside the shirt with his uninjured leg and picked up the shirt. “Yeah, I’m fine. Shiro came and cleaned it,” Keith mentioned as his slipped the shirt on.

 

“I figured that much. I saw Shiro on his way down here,” Coran responded as Keith pulled on the pants.

“What were you doing out there anyway?” Keith asked, bending down to get the rope he knocked off the bench.

 

“Not long after you stopped responding, they took me out and,” Keith heard Coran start, but he stopped listening to the story as he bundled the excess cloth at his side and tied the rope firmly around his waist. Keith rubbed his feet on the ground, noticing the uneven edges on his bare feet. He tried to size up the situation in his mind, but his thoughts wandered to the captain. He was an ass, and his argumentative skills were pitiful, at best. But he had an odd charm about him.

 

He reentered reality when he caught the last bit of Coran’s story. “Repeat that last bit,” Keith asked him, his brow furrowed as he tried to recall what he had said.

 

Coran looked at him with a soft smile pushing his mustache up a bit understandingly and repeated “The cook said that Lance doesn’t appreciate other people skipping their share of responsibilities, so they were going to try to find me something to do. I told them I am a phenomenal cook, but the cook very quickly extinguished that hope.”

 

Keith chuckled, shifting so that his body would be facing towards Coran. “So we’re new crew, whether we like or not?” Keith said questioningly after a small sigh, although he already knew the answer.

 

“Quite right,” Coran affirmed. “The cook—Yunk or Hunk or Lunk was his name, I believe—joked that it was because Lance didn’t like to keep up with his responsibilities, so he puts them on others. He was a rather funny fellow,” Coran added with a smile.

 

“I believe it,” Keith responded flatly. He rose to his feet, not putting too much weight on his sore leg, and stretched his body, his fingertips brushing against a beam above him. He pulled his bad leg up so he was balanced on his other, and bent his leg before using it to propel him the few extra inches he needed to get a good grip on the beam.

 

Coran stood up and put his hands on the barred doors. “Your highness, please be careful; this area of the ship has clearly not been upkept for quite some time, and you’re already injured.”

 

Keith shifted his positioning and pulled himself up so he could rest his chin on the beam. “It’s fine, Coran, I’m a mature adult,” Keith responded, his voice strained from the effort of holding a pull up. He let his body dangle again, then did a few more pull ups. He shifted his hands slightly because he felt like he was losing his grip and felt a sharp object enter his skin, causing him to yelp and let go of the beam in surprise. His legs crumpled beneath him, and his groan of pain was muffled by the thumping of hitting the ground roughly.

 

“This is what I meant,” Coran announced, each word growing louder. “Can we please get some help in here?” He shouted in hopes someone would hear.

 

Not long after, the door opened and shut quickly, a tall woman with grey hair entering. Coran was the first to notice. “Allura?” he breathed disbelievingly, his hands tightening around the bars.

 

She turned, and smiled broadly at Coran. “I’m sorry I haven’t seen you before now, but right now, I must attend to him,” she told him apologetically, quickly walking over to Keith’s area and unlocking the door. She knelt beside him, and quickly looked him over. “Where are you hurt?”

 

He pulled away from her. “I’m fine, it’s just a splinter. I was just startled. It’s fine,” he said, trying to diffuse the focus from himself.

 

“Do your legs hurt?” she pressed.

 

“No, not any more than before, they’re fine,” he assured her. “I can take care of the splinter,” he added, uncomfortable with Allura so close to him even though they’ve had rough times before all of this. However, at the time, he was more concerned with his personal problems than being surprised to see Allura. It wasn’t even that much of a surprise. It figures that she was where Shiro was.

 

Allura stood up, and, looking down at him, said “If you need something, just say so.” She turned to Coran, gently shutting the door behind Keith, and quickly unlocked his cell, opening the door so they could embrace each other.

 

“I thought I would never see you again, princess,” Coran told her.

 

“My dear Coran, I was wondering what happened to you too,” she responded, matching his happiness from the thrill of reunited friends.

 

“What happened to you? When we got separated during the Galra invasion, I thought you had been captured. Many of us fled to Voltron to seek shelter,” Coran explained after they separated.

 

“I was on my way to Voltron, but I encountered some trials that separated us, and then I came across Lance and Shiro and the others, and they offered safety and a chance to fight back, so I followed. I am sorry for not sending word to you.”

 

“I’m just glad you’re alive,” Coran responded, beaming.

 

Keith watched their interaction as he tried to get a grip on the splinter and started to pull it out. It caught on his skin unpleasantly once, but it wasn’t too bad of a splinter, and Keith felt ashamed that he drew attention over such a small injury. He picked himself up and gently tested if the door was locked, not remembering if Allura had locked it or not. When it started to open, Keith froze, glancing at Allura to see if she noticed and deciding what to do. On one hand, he could venture out and possibly get abused by the crew and locked down on privileges, and, on the other, he could stay there and wait because there was nothing really to do outside of his cell at this point, and it wasn’t like he could escape in broad daylight with everyone shuffling about in all corners of the deck.

 

Keith decided to leave the cell—if not from necessity, then just to see how far he could get without anyone noticing. He did his best to maneuver quietly and discreetly in the small room, but his leg was making it a bit difficult, but he left believing no one had seen him, not noticing Allura glancing at his progress occasionally, and felt a rush of pride in himself for being so sneaky when he wasn’t even at peak performance.

 

He slipped along the wall, peeking into the first open room he passed. It appeared to be empty, so he stepped inside and sat on one of the benches. He looked around the room, figuring, by the tables and benches and barrels of provisions, that this was a mess hall of sorts. He folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them, feeling his hair fall in front of his eyes from his change in position. He watched as his hair swung back and forth from his breathing for a minute peacefully, but the sound of something moving behind the counter of the room caused him to jolt up.

 

A large mass stepped moved in the shadows with a loud grunt, and Keith hunched his back to make himself smaller and less visible, freezing. The mass stepped into the candle light, and Keith let out a sigh of relief, but he still stayed low before he was noticed without wanting to. The figure, a dark-skinned burly man, set down the large crate he was taking care of on the edge of a table and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He put his hands on his lower back and groaned as he stretched his spine back, sighing as he came up. He pried the crate in front of him open and, as he set the lid aside, said “I know you’re there, Keith. You don’t have to try to hide, although you picked a poor spot to do that.” He chuckled and turned his head towards Keith, smiling at him.

 

Keith coughed awkwardly, sitting up and wringing his hands in front of him. “I didn’t think anyone else was in here,” Keith admitted sheepishly. “Are you going to throw me out?”

 

The stranger laughed as sorted through the box in front of him, pulling out a few potatoes. “Nah, it’s not like you can really do much. Besides, you aren’t really a threat right now,” he teased.

 

Keith frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“Well, you’re injured in an unfamiliar space crawling with hostiles. We’re all in a confined space and it is hard to navigate without running into at least one person. It’s not like you could steal a row boat or a bunch of weapons, anyway,” he explained lightly. He moved back behind the little barrier and bent down, only the arch of his back being visible to Keith.

 

“You don’t seem very hostile,” Keith pointed out.

 

The man returned to his regular standing position with a large metal pot, which he placed on the counter. “None of us are really all that hostile,” he admitted. “We have a skeleton crew to get things done, and most of us really just want the Galra to be put in its place.” He picked up a ladle and a bowl from the counter and filled the bowl with the steaming contents of the pot, then filled another bowl.

 

“Then why am I here? I have nothing to do with the Galra.”

 

“Lance decided you were important. We aren’t really sure why,” The man replied as he put a spoon in each bowl and then picked them up. Keith hummed thoughtfully, watching him walk towards him with the bowls. “Here,” he said, holding one of the bowls out to Keith. “Nobody came by to bring you anything for lunch, and I was planning on doing it after I was done. But, since you’re here…” He continued before trailing off as Keith took the bowl from him.

 

Keith sipped the broth before setting it down in front of him, letting the subtle flavors play on his tongue. It was expertly spiced, and the substance of the soup played well as they sat and flavored the liquid. “It’s hard to find soup like this out here,” Keith subtly praised. “Most vessels don’t bother with loading spices.”

 

“Many raids on the Galra are, sadly, not fruitful in harming their forces, although we do get quite a bit of staples along with some luxury goods that they monopolize, like some of the spice in this soup.” The sailor paused as he ate a spoonful of soup before continuing, “It helps keep everyone healthy, and, I must say, I can’t complain when there’s good food around,” He explained, ending with a laugh.

 

“I suppose common comforts keep the masses quelled,” Keith mused, eating a few more spoonfuls of soup. “What’s your name, anyway?” Keith asked after a moment of hesitation.

 

“It’s Hunk. Nice to meet you,” he said after swallowing the soup in his mouth.

 

“It’s a pleasure,” Keith responded politely, although a little distantly. Hunk… Keith was sure he had heard that name paired with that voice somewhere, but he couldn’t recall exactly where. Then again, he had met and forgotten many people over the course of his life, so it may just be a coincidence. Keith refocused when Hunk loudly scraped his spoon against his bowl. “Do you not eat with the others?” Keith asked, curious about Hunk’s meal with him.

 

“No, I have to make sure everything is taken care of while they eat. I usually eat after everyone else, although sometimes I’ll eat something while I’m preparing a meal.”

 

“Are you the only one who cooks?” Keith wondered what brought him to this ship. Was he looking for adventure, or trying to protect his home or his friends, or sticking by his friends’ sides? Was his life bad enough to leave, or did he not have a choice, or was he so bent that he just followed this path?

 

“Sometimes others help, but they usually mess it up, so I work alone most of the time. I don’t mind, though. It’s kind of peaceful.”

 

“I hear Coran helped today,” Keith mentioned, recalling how Coran always messed up meals even though they are hard to mess up, his mind straying from his musings about Hunk’s motives on this boat.

 

Hunk sighed dramatically. “He insisted he could cook well, so I let him try to make part of the meal, but then I had to redo it all because I turned around to deal with my work and then I came back and he had turned it into a vat of mush,” Hunk complained loudly. Slipping into an imitative voice of Coran, he continued, “This is highly nutritious, good sir, and, even though it may not be the most aesthetically appealing, this ‘mush’ will certainly get your crew kicking.”

 

Keith chuckled at the imitation. “I could imagine Coran saying that. He tries his best, but sometimes he can be…overenthusiastic? Overconfident?” Keith searched for the right word, but couldn’t come up with what he was looking for. He looked down at his quickly draining bowl. Where did Hunk learn to cook so well? Where has he met Hunk before?

 

Hunk shoveled the rest into his mouth and set down the bowl. “Cocky,” Hunk added as he stood up, walking back towards the pot. He picked up the pot and brought it over to the table the two were sitting at.

 

“He’s smart in other areas, though. He just misjudges his ability to cook,” Keith added. “He means well when he cooks.”

 

Hunk ladled more soup into his bowl, and Keith looked down at his own now empty bowl, then quickly back at Hunk. Hunk noticed, and, with a smile, offered him more soup. Keith nodded, and, after Hunk refilled his bowl, ate in silence until they had both finished their bowls.

 

“So, what was it like, living under the Crown of Lions himself,” Hunk asked as he set down his bowl and rested his head on his hand.

 

Keith followed his lead, setting down his bowl then running a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Well, I except you’ve heard older stories before from Shiro, but, more recently, he’s been,” Keith started, before a shout stopped him.

 

“Hunk! Why are you sitting out here with him! He’s supposed to be in his cell!”

 

Keith looked over his shoulder to see a flabbergasted Lance shouting nonsense, and heard Hunk let out a frustrated sigh across from him. “Lance, he’s not doing anything, and no one gave him lunch. Plus, it’s lonely to eat alone most of the time, so I wanted some company,” Hunk defended himself, although he had a bit of a whine to his voice.

 

“But,” Lance shouted before sputtering for a few seconds, then continuing, “Look at him! He’s…He’s…. disobeying orders!”

 

 

“I was just getting something to eat. You never said I wasn’t allowed to eat,” Keith chimed in, calmly veiling his annoyance. Lance was just trying to come up with some stupid excuse to keep him locked up, and him making a scene out of himself was just embarrassing.

 

“I did say you couldn’t leave your cell!” Lance shouted back.

 

Keith pulled his lips into a thin line. What an imbecile. “You never said that.”

 

“Well, I implied it! You should know when I—“ Lance started before a much softer voice interrupted. Thank God.

 

“I let him out,” Allura stated. “He was getting himself hurt in that room, and he needed some space to stretch.”

 

Lance slumped. “Allura,” he whined, “don’t defend him! He’s clearly in the wrong here because I said he couldn’t leave!” God, Lance is such a child. He never knows when to give up, and he still holds on to his false misconceptions, such as the idiotic belief that he told Keith he had to stay in the cell directly.

 

“I told him he could leave, so then the blame should be on me, not him.”

 

Lance frowned more deeply, straightening his back and putting a hand on his hip. He had no shame at all, changing his demeanor on a dime. “Well, Keith knew he couldn’t leave, and I didn’t tell you, so it’s his fault,” Lance said matter-of-factly.

 

“Let it go, Lance. He’s not causing any trouble,” Hunk pressed. Allura nodded in agreement.

 

Lance’s jaw dropped. “Are you joking?” Lance screeched incredulously. “Do you not see it?” Lance looked back and forth between the two quickly as they shook their heads before turning to glare at Keith with an outstretched, accusatory finger. “He’s dirtying up my lovely ship with his nasty dirty body; that’s trouble enough!” Lance declared.

 

Hunk groaned. “Come on, Lance, he’s probably not anymore grimy than everyone else.”

 

“I’ve probably bathed more recently than you,” Keith challenged.

 

“Keith,” Allura warned quietly, darting a sharp glance towards him before looking back at Lance. “You’re being ridiculous, Lance.”

 

“Of course,” Keith muttered in agreement so Hunk could hear. Hunk chuckled, earning a glare from Lance.

 

Keith looked at Lance through narrowed eyes. “You could just ask if you wanted me to go back. You don’t have to act like I’m going to kill everyone,” Keith growled.

 

“Yeah,” Hunk agreed, patting Keith on the shoulder from across the table. “I can take him back to his cell if it really bothers you that much.”

 

“Fine,” Lance said after a moment of hesitation, before walking out, though not before throwing “just don’t leave your cell without my permission again” over his shoulder to Keith.

 

Keith looked over as Hunk stood up then stood up himself. He heard the soft rustling of cloth behind him, and he turned to see Allura approaching him. “Thanks for shutting him up,” Keith said as he glanced back and forth between Hunk and Allura.

 

“He just needs someone to help him get a grasp on reality sometimes. He can get a bit ahead of himself,” Allura responded, lightly defending Lance.

 

“Yeah, although I would rather call him stubborn,” Hunk added, putting an arm over Keith’s shoulders. Keith jerked at the sudden contact, but Hunk kept a tight enough grip that Keith didn’t get out of it.

 

“I have to work out another strategy with the others and make sure everything is working well, so you’ll have to excuse me,” Allura told them with a nod, before looking directly at Keith. “Don’t let Lance get to you. One grows used to him.” With that, she slipped out the door and disappeared into the hall.

 

“She seems more like the captain than Lance does,” Keith noted to Hunk.

 

“Lance’s title is more honorary than anything. It was his idea to band together this group, so he wanted to be called the captain, but everyone tends to look at Allura as the real boss,” Hunk explained. “We have to get going too,” Hunk said, gently pushing Keith towards the door. Keith was kind of uncomfortable by the position the two were in, but the grip of the burlier man kept him from struggling. Keith turned down the hall, towards the prisoner’s hold, but Hunk’s hand on his shoulder pulled him the other way. When Keith caught Hunk’s drift, he followed, and Hunk let go of him.

 

“I thought you were taking me back to my cell,” Keith commented as he walked a bit behind Hunk, a slight limp making his steps uneven.

 

“Lance didn’t say I had to take you there immediately,” Hunk said, turning his head so he could wink at Keith over his shoulder.

 

“Then where are we going?”

 

“To the deck. Allura mentioned you were getting cramped in your little room, so I figured you might like the space and the air on the deck for a while.”

 

“Ah,” Keith responded simply. They walked the rest of the way in silence, and Hunk helped him go up the stairs faster when they reached them. Hunk and Keith stood by the edge of the ship for a few seconds, staring out into the endless blue stretching out in front of them. Hunk stepped away and started fiddling with the rope net next to them, and Keith tore his eyes away from the gentle waves to watch him unravel a cloth from it.

 

Keith peeked over his shoulder to get a better view at what he was doing. “What is that?”

 

“We call it the sling. Lance wanted a place to hang out comfortably, and begged Pidge to make him a special chair, but he wouldn’t, so Lance made this. Once Pidge used it, said it was terrible, and added a few more supporting ropes and placed a few more along the net. Now they’re well liked, but most of us don’t have the time for it. Right now, though, you don’t have much else to do,” Hunk explained as he untangled the ropes and cloth. Hunk turned around and held out his arms. “Do you want me to put you up there? It might be hard to climb with your leg.”

 

Keith grimaced and shook his head no.

 

“Don’t strain yourself. Let me help you up,” Hunk said, putting his hands under Keith’s arms before he could respond.

 

“Hey!” Keith exclaimed in protest, but Hunk put him down gently after just a few seconds. Hunk was right, this did seem to be rather comfortable, and it offered a nice view.

 

“I have to get back to the kitchen. There’s a lot to do before dinner. Shout if you need anything,” Hunk told him with a wave and quickly walked away.

 

“Thank you,” Keith called after him, and he waved again as he disappeared down the stairs to show he heard. Keith settled into the strangely hung cloth, noticing how it was, more or less, a hammock shaped into a rudimentary chair. He squirmed back until he was comfortable, and watched the birds pass over head, racing past the drifting clouds. He could have sworn he saw the spray of a whale breathing in the distance, but he couldn’t be quite sure. The sound of the boat parting the water and the crew quietly working around him, along with the gentle rock of the boat, lulled him to sleep for a while.

 

He was woken up but the ropes growing taunt, shaking his support. He leaned forward and looked around, trying to figure out what was going on. The sky had grown a deep navy, the time just before it plunges to black, and the stars generously coated the sky without the moon’s light to obscure them. The ropes shifted again quickly, and Keith looked up to see a small person making his way down. As it approached, he leaned back again so he wouldn’t get hit in the head by a stray foot, and eventually met big, light brown eyes looking him over. Keith shifted uncomfortably and let out a slight cough.

 

“You’re Keith, right?” He said, his words muffled by the object he had clamped between his teeth. Keith nodded, but before he could properly respond, he spoke again. “Name’s Pidge.” He shifted his balance so he could extend a hand. Keith took it, firmly shaking it before letting it go. Pidge took his now free hand and took the device in it, holding it out in front of Keith. “Hold this,” Pidge commanded.

 

“What is it?” Keith asked as he took it, careful not to break…whatever it was.

 

“It’s a sophisticated tracking device,” Pidge started as he could sit on the ropes, “so we can use it to find you whenever you try to escape.” He took the device out of his hands as Keith was examining it.

 

“Somehow, I can’t really believe that,” Keith responded flatly.

 

Pidge shrugged, looking down the center of it as he pulled a sharp rod out of his satchel. “Yeah, you’re right, it’s just something to help Hunk proportion better in the kitchen. He always complains about weight issues with the ingredients and how hard it is to even out recipes,” Pidge explained, before jokingly adding, “But don’t doubt my skill. I could make a tracking device if I wanted to.”

 

“I’m not trying to demean you,” Keith defended himself, raising his hands in surrender.

 

“Keep it that way,” Pidge poked. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

 

“Hunk put me out here. Apparently, people thought I needed some air and more space.”

 

“And did you?”

 

“Yeah. What are you doing out here? It looks like everyone else is gone, mostly.”

 

“I wanted to finish this up, and Telaz wanted company in the Crow’s nest. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

 

Before Keith got the chance to respond, another voice rang up to them, and, although he couldn’t see the owner, he knew it immediately. “Hey, Pidge, who are you talking to?” Lance called.

 

Pidge looked at Keith quickly before turning so he could look down at Lance. “Telaz,” he lied.

 

“Telaz? Isn’t he supposed to be up in the nest?”

 

“His back hurt, so he wanted to come down to relax.”

 

“Telaz, come down so we can help,” Lance called, louder than before. “You need to be up in the nest.”

 

Another, deeper voice called down from much higher. “I am in the nest, captain. Why do I need to come down?”

 

Pidge and Keith froze, and Lance frowned deeply. “Pidge, why are you lying? Who is up there?” He demanded. He didn’t wait very long before saying “It’s Keith, isn’t it?”

 

Pidge looked at Keith, whispering “sorry,” before looking back down at Lance, not noticing the dismissing wave of Keith’s hand. “Yeah.”

 

Keith could hear Lance’s frustrated huff from where he sat. “Hunk said he was taking him to his cell!”

 

“What am I supposed to do about that?” Pidge asked impatiently.

 

Keith squirmed forward and peeked over the side of cloth. Lance wasn’t in his pompous dress like before, now wearing a loose cream shirt and dull brown pants that seemed to be too short for him, only going halfway down his shins. Keith thought he looked better this way. However, it didn’t take much for him to say that, because Lance looked honestly ridiculous before. Lance frowned at Keith. “Get down here,” Lance commanded. Pidge started to climb back down, earning a frustrated sigh. “Not you, Keith,” Lance corrected impatiently.

 

“You don’t have to be rude,” Pidge called down, continuing to complete his descent, with Keith following shortly, albeit more slowly.

 

Keith carefully lowered himself down and stood in front of Lance. “Now what, Captain?” Keith asked mockingly. He was always so demanding.

 

“I’m taking you back to your cell. Come on,” Lance directed sharply, turning and quickly walking away. Keith followed more slowly, and, when Lance turned around to make sure he was following, frowned and walked back to him. “Get on my back,” Lance instructed Keith, squatting in front of him so that he could climb on easily.

 

“What?” Keith asked simply after a few moments. What even goes through Lance’s head? Where does he come up with this shit?

 

“Get on my back! You heard me,” Lance repeated.

 

“I’m not getting on your back.,” Keith responded stubbornly, crossing him arms. He was not a doll, and he was not about to be taken care of by this idiot when he could take care of himself.

 

“You’re so insubordinate,” Lance complained before pressing his back into Keith and grabbing the back of his knees, pulling him forward, then standing up so that Keith was stuck on his back.

 

Keith wrapped his arms around Lance’s neck instinctively, momentarily fearing he would fall. When his mind processed that Lance was holding on to his legs, though, he let go and pushed on Lance’s shoulders. “Put me down,” Keith demanded. He felt exposed in this position, and he wasn’t going to stay in it.

 

“The less you move, the faster we’ll get to your cell,” Lance replied simply, walking down the stairs, arms tightly around Keith’s legs.

 

This bitch. Why is he so stubborn? It’s okay to be strong willed, but god, this was too much. Keith squirmed for a few more feet, before whipping his body to the side in an attempt to knock Lance off balance, but it wasn’t very effective, so he grabbed onto Lance’s jaw and pulled them both backwards. Keith hit the ground hard, then Lance hit Keith hard, leaving Keith gasping for breath.

 

“What the hell,” Lance growled as he stood up and reached down to pick up the breathless prisoner.

 

“Don’t touch me,” Keith hissed back, swiping at Lance’s hand as it approached him. He put his hands behind him and stood up gingerly.

 

“Why did you do that?” Lance questioned aggressively.

 

“Don’t touch me,” Keith repeated, his voice dropping as he pushed past Lance, limping towards the hold.

 

“God, you’re insane,” Lance muttered at him as he followed. Keith pushed open the door of the hold and walked in, noticing Lance stopping at the doorway.

 

“You’re the dumbass with terrible ideas,” Keith growled back as he entered his cell.

 

“You’re the hardass who doesn’t listen to orders,” Lance snapped back, stepping in to take the keys off the wall.

 

“You’re the so-called captain who can’t even give out direct orders,” Keith barked back.

 

“You’re the illegitimate child who gets the throne because the real heir was run out,” Lance shouted at him, locking his cell door.

 

“What’s all this about?” Coran demanded, his voice heavy with sleep. “Why are you two arguing?”

 

“Just telling Lance to have a good night,” Lance responded, his voice less angry and loud, turning more to a bitter tone, like he was fake complimenting the meal of a person he despised. Keith watched him storm out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

 

Coran sighed. “Not a good day, I suppose?”

 

“It was fine until he showed up,” Keith corrected bitterly. Why did Lance have to be like this? Keith never did anything to him, yet Lance still treated him terribly.

 

The door opened again, causing Keith to stiffen in case it was Lance coming back to argue more, but he relaxed when he saw that it was just Shiro. “What do you need?” Keith asked the visitor.

 

“I thought I should check on your leg before you went to sleep,” Shiro said, unlocking Keith’s cell and pushing the door open.

 

“Thanks,” Keith said as sat down and pulled up the leg of his pants before putting it on the bench so it could be easily inspected.

 

Shiro loosened the bandages, peeking under them to make sure nothing had changed. “So far, it looks good,” Shiro informed Keith as he tightened the bandages back up. “I’ll bring something to clean it with tomorrow. For now, just relax, and try to sleep well,” Shiro advised as he closed the door and put the keys back on the wall. “Good night, you two,” he called before he disappeared outside the door.

 

“Good night, Keith,” Coran said, before resting his head back on his arm and quickly started snoring.

 

“Night,” Keith mumbled, although he doubted Coran would notice. He curled up on the plank of wood and started at the dimly lit corner adjacent to his head. Keith tried to sleep, but it took him a while, as his mind drifted from how nice Hunk was to the relief of seeing that Allura made it out of Altea safely to how Shiro was alive to how no one bothered to tell him that Allura and Shiro were fine to what a pompous ass Lance was. Keith’s fingers rubbed against the wood as he thought, and, eventually, he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was the wait worth it? I might redo the end of this chapter. It got kind of wonky and a little clunky, but, for now, it is fine. Consider this my final goodbye to 2016.
> 
> Hopefully I'll be able to update more. I took some time to plan it out, and I have eleven chapters planned so far, but I think there'll be more than that in the final product! Although, I have to warn you, things don't get too Klance-y until later. The first four chapters don't really have that much Lance, to be honest. Sorry, he's a busy dude!
> 
> I also think I might make it into a series, if there's enough support, but it would mostly be one shot stuff and extra side things. Let me know what you think!


	3. Kitchen Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith spends the day helping out Hunk, but Keith is not very good with kitchen based work. Lance doesn't let him catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, I'm back. Sorry for being gone so long. I got back from Europe for a month and a half without my computer, and I saw the most recent comment, and I felt kind of bad. I started this chapter months ago, but I only finished the last half in the past few days. Sorry if it isn't great, but I tried to do a decent job. I know I'm really awful about updating. I really do have eleven chapters planned out, but sometimes I have trouble getting all those thoughts put into a comprehensive story. I'll try to be better, but school is quickly approaching, and I don't know how things will turn out. Thanks for putting up with me so far.

Mornings were the worst. Coran was usually gone before Keith had woken up, and then no one checked on him until later, to give him lunch. It had been a several days, and he had been restricted to his cell. Shiro told him that Lance said “Since we don’t need an extra hand for right now, we don’t need him. Keep him in the cell,” so he had to stay there while he waited. But it was just sitting around twiddling his thumbs until someone brought him food. He burned time by exercising, by he wasn’t getting enough water to keep that going for long. Keith thought Lance was keeping him in his cell because that coward couldn’t face the conflict he started with Keith.

 

Keith scanned the walls, instantly looking for a clock, but, alas, there was still no way for him to tell time in here other than whenever people brought him something to eat and when Coran came back and told him that night had fallen and everyone is going to sleep. Keith would go insane if he had to spend another day in this cramped space. Keith pressed his back against the wall, then pressed his feet against the door so he could hover parallel to the ground half a meter below.

 

The door opened, and Keith let his head fall to the side, looking at his visitor. “Is it lunch already?” Keith asked Shiro, a bitter laugh passing his lips as he brought his feet down to stand properly. He was so tired of this system.

 

Keith heard the keys jingle as Shiro took them off the wall. “Actually,” he said cheerily, unlocking the door, “you’re helping make it. Let’s go.”

 

“Really?” Keith blurted out excitedly, stepping closer to the door and wringing his hands impatiently.

 

“Yeah,” Shiro said with a smile, turning around and gesturing for Keith to follow.

 

Keith pushed open the door and quickly followed Shiro, his toes on Shiro’s heels as they went down the hall. Keith slowed as they approached the mess hall, assuming he would be working there, Shiro’s motions affirming him soon enough

 

“I had begun to think that Lance was keeping me locked up as a passive-aggressive punishment,” Keith mentioned, trying to walk beside Shiro so he could look at him, but he couldn’t due to the traffic in the narrow pathway.

 

“He was, but you seemed a bit bored, and the last thing we need is someone losing their mind because of solitude,” Shiro responded, a laugh on his voice.

 

The conversation ended when they entered the mess hall when he saw Hunk hunched on a stool across the room, carefully peeling potatoes with a knife over a wide bucket. “Good morning, Hunk,” Shiro called.

 

Hunk looked up from his task, appearing a bit surprised, before waving them over. “Morning. You guys came at a good time. I would have been at this for ages without you,” Hunk explained, his voice slowly losing volume as the two approached him.

 

“I won’t be able to help this time. Pidge needs to show me something, and then I need to discuss some issues with Coran and Allura,” Shiro said apologetically. Placing a hand on Keith’s back, much like he had when they were teenagers, Shiro gently pushed him forward. “Keith’ll help you, though.”

 

“Sure,” Hunk nodded to Shiro, before looking at Keith. “There’s another stool over in the corner, if you want one,” Hunk informed him, pointing the direction with his knife.

 

“I’ll just sit on the floor, if that’s fine with you,” Keith responded hesitantly.

 

“I need to go,” Shiro intervened softly, beginning to step away.

 

“Okay,” Keith responded as he crotched down, ignoring the burning in his leg and gauging how Hunk was reacting to his decision in case Hunk really wanted him to sit on a stool.

 

“Later,” Hunk called, his hands rifling through his pockets. “You can sit on the floor if you want, but I don’t know why you would want to. It’s not comfortable,” Hunk added as he pulled out another knife from his belt, offering it to Keith.

 

Keith reached up a took the end of the knife handle, letting it fall into his hand more comfortably when Hunk let go, murmuring a quick “thanks.” He shifted so that he was on his knees and removed a few potatoes from the barrel they were being kept in, putting them on the ground near him before sitting back down so he could stretch his legs with a long sigh. “I feel like I haven’t been able to stretch in an age,” he said, pressing his knife against the edge of the potato.

 

“You’re doing that wrong,” Hunk said with a frown, having looked up to respond properly, but becoming distracted.

 

Keith, however, didn’t pay much attention to what he said, and swiped his wrist down, cutting off a chunk of the potato and sending it flying a few feet away.

 

“Keith,” Hunk cried out in despair, looking at the sad piece of potato lying against the wall, marinating in dust. “You’re pointing downwards too much,” Hunk corrected, grief still evident in his voice.

 

“Sorry,” Keith muttered. He did feel bad about wasting some food, but he was a little upset that Hunk was acting like it was the end of the world.

 

Hunk slowly looked back at Keith, then down to the half-peeled potato in his hand. He moved his hands deliberately, angling the knife against the skin. “Watch me,” he commanded. When he met eyes with Keith, he looked down, waited a second, then slowly scraped the skin off, barely taking any of the meat with him, letting the sliver fall into the bucket below him. He placed the knife back at his old starting point, shifting it so he could wedge it under more skin. Hunk brought his hands up to show Keith his positioning. “You want your knife to slip under the skin, but you aren’t chopping them, so don’t angle it so much that you take the rest with you. Go slowly if you aren’t sure your positioning is right,” Hunk instructed.

 

“Alright,” Keith said, looking down at the rest of his potato, eager to prove himself. He liked Hunk, and he was grateful to be out of his cell, so he wanted to be useful. He carefully brought the potato up to the level of his eyes and angled his knife so he could do it as skillfully as Hunk did it.

 

“No, start from the other end,” Hunk almost shouted in alarm, causing Keith to jump a little. “Never cut towards yourself and make sure your fingers are always out of the way in case you make a mistake.”

 

Keith huffed, frustrated that he wasn’t catching on as quickly as he had hoped. Maybe one and a half tries are a bit too high of an expectation, but whatever. He could do this. He had done much harder things on the first try. This shouldn’t be this hard. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, once again repositioning. It was slow, and he got more meat than he had hoped, but he had successfully peeled a strip of skin off a potato.

 

“Alright, that’s good enough, just take your time,” Hunk said, examining Keith’s work before dropping the peel and continuing his own work.

 

They went on for a few minutes like this in silence, both engrossed in their tasks. However, it became increasingly difficult for Keith to focus with Hunk working in his peripheral vision. He was acutely aware of how slow he was going compared to Hunk, will peels raining down moments apart and potatoes neatly set aside in a deeper bucket while Keith could only remove a few strips by the time Hunk had moved on to the next potato. Keith’s brow furrowed and he tried to increase his speed. He shifted so that he was sitting crossed-legged in from of the bucket. His face scrunched as a few more seconds passed with no difference, shifting again so that his legs were extended. His legs were starting to cramp up.

 

The more seconds that passed, the more he noticed how stale and stagnant the air was in the room. He shifted so his legs were under him again, letting his hand move so he could get a better grip on the potato. He just wanted to be helpful.

 

“Whoa, Keith, are you okay?” Hunk asked, looking up from his work.

 

Keith continued to work, seeing Hunk stop out of the corner of his yeah. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Keith said, his words sped up by a pant as he scraped furiously at the potato. The room was hot too. He didn’t feel well.

 

Keith felt an arm on his shoulder and looked up to see Hunk leaned over towards him. “Do you need a break?”

 

“No, I’m okay,” Keith insisted.

 

“Are you sure? You’re acting oddly. Do you feel okay?” Hunk pressed.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just,” Keith paused, before continuing, “It’s a little dry in here, is all.”

 

Hunk smiled at him. “You should have just asked. We can move to the upper deck, if you’d like,” Hunk offered, moving his hand from Keith’s shoulder to stand before offering Keith his hand.

 

Keith looked up at Hunk, then down to his hand, before grabbing his hand and letting Hunk drag him to his feet, careful to support himself on his uninjured leg. “Yeah, if we can. What about the potatoes, though?”

 

Hunk hummed thoughtfully for a second. “I’ll take the barrel with the unprepared potatoes,” he said as he heaved said barrel upwards, shifting it a few times in his hands so he could get a better grip. “You take the peel bucket and one like this,” he directed Keith as he nudged the bucket of peeled potatoes with his foot. “They’re in front of the counter.”

 

“Sure,” Keith responded as he limped over to collect the desired objects before returning to Hunk. “Ready to go?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Hunk said, turning to lead out the door. Keith followed as quickly as he could, but his leg was making it harder. Hunk glanced over his shoulder, slowing down wordlessly, while Keith turned his head to scowl at the wall, attempting to hide his embarrassment. It wasn’t his fault that he was injured and holed up in a small space for the majority of the time; it was Lance’s.

 

When they reached the stairs, Hunk turned to look over his shoulder, gently commanding “Stay here for a minute” before scaling the steps. Hunk disappeared on the deck for a moment before hurrying down the stairs to take the barrels from Keith’s hands, repeating his original command. Keith stood there, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to another as crew members circulated around him. Hunk eventually returned, smiling at Keith. “Sorry I took so long. Allura got mad at me for leaving stuff in a high traffic region of the deck,” He apologized, scratching the back of his head.

 

“It’s fine,” Keith shrugged, stepping to the side so he could pass Hunk. Hunk, having other plans, quickly bent down and scooped up Keith, who let out a surprised yelp.

 

“What the hell are you doing,” Keith protested, his arms pressing heavily against Hunk’s chest.

 

“You’re slow and in pain, Keith. Just calm down, it’s for one minute,” Hunk responded casually, his arms tightening around Keith’s side and knees to keep him from squirming out of his grip as he stomped up the stairs. Keith squinted in the direct sunlight, his hand reaching up to hide his eyes as Hunk carried him over to the corner of the deck he set up for potatoes.

 

A movement in the corner of his eye demanded his attention, and by the time he turned his head and realized who it was, he didn’t have time to react before Lance opened his loud mouth. “So, the princess is finally out. What’s wrong, heels too high?” He teased.

 

“It’s your fault I can’t heal faster,” Keith snarled in return, kicking lightly against Hunk to get him to let him down.

 

Hunk sighed, setting down Keith on the ground. “Cut it out,” he grumbled at the two of them before directing his eyes towards Lance, “Don’t you have other things to do?”

 

“As captain, it’s my job to make sure that the crew is doing their job,” Lance sniffed.

 

“Come on, Lance, you’re an over glorified mascot. Everyone knows Allura calls the shots,” another voice called from above them. Keith glanced up, spotting Pidge peering down at them. “He isn’t even crew,” he added.

 

“This is mutiny,” Lance muttered, walking off to follow the voice from across the deck that called his name.

 

Hunk rested his hand on Keith’s back, gently guiding him to a stool. “Okay, back to work now,” he said loudly, causing Keith to assume he was also talking to Pidge.

 

Keith sat down with a sigh, and Hunk situated himself across from the pale boy. The two selected their first potato, and sat for a few minutes cutting the skin off silently, even though Keith kept thinking about what had happened once they hit the deck.

 

“Why did you guys defend me?” Keith asked Hunk, his eyes still locked on his potato. He was only halfway done with his first one.

 

“Lance is a nice guy,” Hunk started, lying yet another potato on his growing pile, “but it’s been different lately. One day, he started to get really pissy and insisted we find you. After a few weeks, we finally gave into to his crazy rambling in hopes he would shut up, but he’s just more agitated now that you’re here.” He put down another finished potato.

 

“Why does he have this weird obsession against me?” Keith responded quickly, swiping angrily at his potato. Was he angry because of Lance or because of the potato? It didn’t matter.

 

Hunk paused, before slowly stating “That’s a better question for Lance. I’m not really sure.”

 

Keith looked at him, his bangs obscuring the face of his peeling partner, before looking back down. “Fine,” he said after a longer pause.

 

Another minute passed, and Hunk set down another finished potato, and Keith put down his first one. Reaching for another, he felt Hunk’s large hand carefully wrap around his wrist. “Keith, watch me,” he told him for the second time in less than an hour. Keith wrinkled his nose in frustration, but scooted over to see what Hunk wanted to show him. “You want to flick your wrist like this. Don’t saw it like bread,” Hunk instructed as he demonstrated.

 

When he had finished, Keith picked up another potato and tried to mimic the motion, but it was clumsy and slow. Keith was afraid he would swipe off too much of the meat, so he took a lot of time. The back and forth of Hunk correcting patiently and Keith trying continued for several minutes, and Keith was getting a little better. He presented his potato to Hunk; it wasn’t perfect, but it was faster than before and he didn’t lose most of the meat in the process.

 

“Good job,” Hunk praised. “Keep at it and I just might have to ask you to be my assistant.”

 

Keith laughed when Hunk winked at him, and went to pick up another potato, his other hand setting the finished potato in his small pile.

 

The clacking of boots hitting the deck approached, and Keith turned to see Lance bending down to pick up one of his potatoes. “Is this all you’ve done?” Lance critiqued. “It’s not even a very good job.”

 

“It’s not like he’s been doing it for a long time, Lance,” Hunk objected to the tone. “At least he’s trying to help.”

 

“He’s wasting perfectly good parts of the potato,” Lance pointed out.

 

“Don’t you have something better to do right now?” Keith responded sharply, his hand moving to protectively cover his pile. If that boot touches his hard work, it and the body attached to it are going overboard.

 

“Let me show you how it’s done,” Lance said, plucking the knife out of Keith’s hand while he was off guard. He grabbed the nearest potato, looked it over for a few seconds, before slicing the skin off with a speed of a dolphin and the precision of a master. “Like that,” he said as he set down the potato.

 

Hunk quickly pulled the potato off the pile. “You’re all speed and no style, Lance. You lost a lot of the actual potato,” he grumbled.

 

Lance put a finger in front of Hunk’s face to silence him. “It’s still better than Keith’s work.” Lance gave the knife to Keith and commanded “now you” before Hunk could respond.

 

Keith picked up another potato with as he shot a glare at Lance, setting the knife to the skin and trying to go a little faster.

 

“Oh, come on, Kogane, you can’t do any better than that? Faster,” Lance taunted.

 

Keith tightened his grip around the knife and picked up the pace.

 

“You’re losing most of the potato! Like me,” Lance ordered, pulling out his own knife to make quick work of another potato in demonstration.

 

“Will you shut up?  No one can see when you’re going too fast! How do you expect me get it?” Keith demanded, jumping out of his seat and ignoring the pain that shot through his leg.

 

“Everyone talks about how good you are with a sword and how you make quick work of competitors, what’s the difference with a potato! Hunk has shown you, you should get it by now,” Lance yelled back, bending his back and putting his face directly in front of Keith’s.

 

Keith snatched Lance’s wrist from his waist and shook it in front of Lance’s face. “You keep saying ‘like me, like me,’ but how can anyone see with your stupidly large hands?” Keith shouted.

 

“Maybe if you would actually listen when I say to watch and not just look at my hands. I know I have nice skin, but get your head in the game,” Lance barked, pulling his arm out of Keith’s grip.

 

“Not everyone finds you attractive, Lance! Why do you have to be such an annoyance!”

 

Hunk stood up and inserted his body in-between the two. “Stop it! Fighting isn’t helping anything!” Hunk exclaimed. “Lance, finish your work before lunch. Keith, we need to finish. We’re going back down.”

 

Lance glared at Keith, after directing it at Hunk, then back to Keith, before twisting on his heel and marching off, while Keith returned the look as Lance walked away, trying to burn a hole in the back of Lance’s empty head. Hunk moved the two piles into a barrel and put the peels bucket into the barrel that once held the unfinished potatoes. Throwing the two barrels under his arms, Hunk turned towards Keith. “When you’re done, we can go.”

 

Keith twisted his head to look back at Hunk watching him. He blinked a few times, letting his anger dissipate with the fanning of his lashes. Straightening his body, he shuffled so he could face Hunk more directly. “Yeah, what do we need to do?”

 

“For now, you can just follow me,” Hunk responded with a smile, spinning around to march towards the stairs.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want some help with that stuff?” Keith asked, hurrying to catch up with the probably over-cumbered man.

 

“Nah, I got it. Thanks,” Hunk chirped.

 

“Okay,” Keith said quietly, a little too tired to argue about it. Hunk probably wasn’t going to drop it, and Keith wasn’t really in the best position to take some of the load. Lance is so unnecessarily fatiguing.

 

The two descended without a disruption and returned to the kitchen region, Hunk ordering Keith to stack up the bowls and utensils for the meal in a certain fashion while he cut vegetables. Keith did as he was told, but couldn’t help but to watch as Hunk cut the vegetables. He did it with great skill, and Keith admired his work, probably forged by years and years of practice. Keith couldn’t help but think that his skills were wasted here with limited supplies and options, but he decided to stay silent. Hunk, Keith found, was much quieter, much more focused, when he chopped, and he didn’t talk much, but Keith didn’t mind. He wanted a bit of time to reflect himself. All this time constantly around other people was a bit hard on him, and he was happy for some time of silent introspection.

 

The splashing of a steady tumble of colorful cubes into an enormous pot of water drew him out of his trance. He glanced over to see Hunk wiping his hands on the apron tied around his waist. “What are we going to do with all this food? The crew isn’t that large.”

 

Hunk laughed, eliciting a frown from Keith. “I would die if I had to do this all the time. This soup will last for a couple of days, which gives me time to do other things,” Hunk explained quickly. “Will you hand me that grain over there?” Keith picked up a sack of said grain and tossed it to Hunk, who caught it with a grunt. “Barley,” Hunk identified the grain as he looked at the bag, “it helps make the soup feel more substantial.”

 

“You sure have to know a lot to make use of what you have and keep everyone happy,” Keith mused.

 

“It’s not really that hard once you get used to it,” Hunk shrugged.

 

“Why did you decide to be a cook here?” Keith blurted out, before quickly explaining, “I mean, you don’t have a lot of space and you don’t have a lot of ingredients easily accessible and your utensils are, from what I can tell, things you’ve scrounged up for the most part.”

 

Hunk’s brows twitched together, and he picked up a spoon and intently stirred his concoction. “It’s complicated, and I don’t want to talk about it now.”

 

Keith didn’t respond. Maybe he had over-stepped his bounds by asking that question, but it was too late. He hoped Hunk wouldn’t be mad for long. Before long, crew members started appearing, asking for lunch, and the only interaction he got was Hunk telling him what he needed to do to make things run smoothly. He hadn’t seen a familiar face the entirety of the time he was working; however, Hunk had found someone to talk to and was much cheerier after they departed.

 

The room eventually cleared, and the noise quieted down, and Hunk and Keith went about cleaning it, chatting about their lives as they worked. Hunk excused himself for a moment while Keith cleaned, saying he needed to deliver food to Allura and Coran and Shiro--who were working together--Lance, and Pidge. They ate together once he returned, then for the next few hours after that, Keith helped Hunk organize. It was surprising, the amount of space he had to move stuff around in, but that isn’t to say there was a surplus, because he was really limited on space.

 

Before he noticed, it was time for Keith to repeat the same preparation for meals. As people started streaming in, he saw Shiro and Allura approach the counter. Shiro nudged Allura into the queue with his arm and stepped behind to stand beside Keith as he handed a bowl to Allura. “Had a good day, Keith?”

 

Keith nodded in affirmation, handing a bowl to another crew member. “Why weren’t you here at lunch?” Keith asked, glancing over at his brother leaning on the counter as he took another bowl from Hunk.

 

“I was talking next moves with Allura,” he said, his remaining hand shifting to run through his hair.

 

“With Coran?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I thought we were prisoners.”

 

“It’s more complicated than that and you know it,” Shiro chided, frowning at Keith. “He knows more about recent Galra movements because you guys have been living in a governmental hub with hundreds of ships with constantly updating information.”

 

“Why haven’t we talked yet?” Keith asked quietly in response, never ceasing to grab a bowl, give a bowl, grab a bowl, give a bowl, grab a bowl, give a bowl…

 

“I’ve been busy. Soon, I promise, we can have quality time to catch up.” Shiro pushed himself into a normal standing position, picking up a bowl. “I need to eat and get going. I’ll see you soon.”

 

“Bye.” Not long after, Lance slipped into the room and into the line. Keith hesitated when he saw the long, tan fingers stretching out before him, but he gave him the bowl in silence eventually.

 

“Enjoying work?” Lance asked, leaning on the counter and taking a sip from his bowl.

 

Keith looked him over suspiciously. “You’re in the way,” he pointed out, nodding towards the queue.

 

Lance slides back a step. “Now I’m not. Are you enjoying yourself?”

 

“It’s better than a cell,” Keith replies slowly, carefully choosing his words as he continued to give people food. He didn’t trust the scenario.

 

Lance sighs. “You know, you don’t have to be so uptight all the time. You aren’t that terrible with peeling potatoes. It’s sad, and a symbol of your spoiled lifestyle, but at least you tried, and I trust when Hunk says you improved.”

 

Keith paused to glare at him. “You don’t have to keep running your mouth. Don’t act like you know my life.”

 

Lance shrugged, probably to himself, and pushed off the counter. “Whatever, man,” Lance brushed off casually, walking off to sit down at one of the larger tables.

 

The queue ended not long after Lance left. Hunk set down two filled bowls on the counter, resting one beside Keith. “You can go eat, if you want,” Hunk told him.

 

Keith looked out at the hall, spotting Shiro surrounded by strangers. “No, I think I’ll just stay back here.”

 

“If that’s the case, I’ll stay back here and keep you company,” Hunk said with a smile, his head twisting to look more directly at Keith’s.

 

Keith smiled at his gesture. “Thanks, but you can join the rest if you want.”

 

“Nah, there’s a lot more space back here.”

 

Keith didn’t respond. He looked out at the crew members, laughing and enjoying their food. Keith felt a spark of pride knowing he helped put together this meal, even if it was just a little bit. He wondered if this is why Hunk decided to stay.

 

“Why are there so many people here now?” Keith asked, suddenly stricken by the difference between the lunch and dinner crowds. At lunch, the queue was steady, but slow, and the hall spent most of its time only half full. Now, people were piled on top of each other and everyone came practically at once.

 

“With lunch, it’s more of a free-for-all. People come within a set time that is larger to get food from us,” Hunk started, gesturing around the room with his spoon. He ate a spoonful of his soup before continuing, “At dinner, the rules are stricter. The serving period is much shorter, and that way most everyone is here—,“ Hunk paused, distracted by the clattering of Lance jumping out of his seat dramatically, flagrantly telling a story as the crew erupted with laughter, “—at the same time so we can talk and relax for a bit. It’s better for group bonding, you know?”

 

“Oh,” Keith responded mindlessly, his attention directed towards Lance. His hands were flailing as he paced up and down the path. He screamed something that didn’t make sense to Keith, so he assumed it was a joke by the way everyone else laughed. As the story continued, and Lance continued to act like a fool, Keith’s brows tightened.

 

“Why does he act like an idiot with his crew?  How does he even manage to maintain their respect like this?” Keith demanded Hunk incredulously.

 

Hunk laughed at Keith’s surprise. “Everyone respects him even if he makes himself a clown, so why not have some fun?”

 

Keith huffed. “He should at least respect himself more than that,” He muttered into his bowl.

 

“I thought you didn’t like him,” Hunk said, leaning over to nudge Keith playfully with his shoulder.

 

“I don’t, but if you’re in a position of authority, you should take yourself more seriously.”

 

Hunk frowned. “You don’t really understand how things work here.”

 

Keith didn’t respond, just watching Lance continue to dance around his crew mates. He finished his soup before the show had finished, and it appeared most of the other sailors were in the same boat as him. In the metaphorical sense. The same position. It doesn’t matter. Whatever.

 

Lance, body jerking as he reenacted a fight scene, made his way over to a table and jumped on top, his body spreading as he shouted out the end of his story, crew members cheering and laughing at the finale. What a clown. Afterwards, most people hurriedly finished their food, if they hadn’t already, and shuffled out, abandoning their utensils on the tables.

 

Hunk hurried over to start collecting little towers of bowls and spoons, dispensing them at the counter for Keith to start scrubbing in the basin Hunk had prepared with soap and water while Lance was telling his story. When Hunk finished making his stacks on the counter, he hurried off to wipe down the tables. Keith heard him chatting with Lance soon after he disappeared, but he elected to continue to do his work in hopes that Lance would just leave him in peace.

 

Much to Keith’s displeasure, he felt a bony hand on his shoulder not long after a break in the conversation in the mess hall. “Have you really been so pampered you can’t even dump plates quickly? At least it’s a step up from your laughable potato peeling skills,” Lance joked.

 

Keith gritted his teeth in frustration. “Why do you always have to come in a critique me? What’s your problem?” He growled out.

 

Lance rolled up his sleeves and sat down across from Keith. “Someone has to, mullet,” he responded simply as he picked up a bowl and started to help.

 

“That’s not a reasonable response,” Keith grumbled.

 

Hunk came around the corner, hands on his hips. “Lance, you better not be discouraging him; he’s been more help today than you’ve ever been, and I don’t want you crushing his morale.”

 

Lance pulled a soapy hand out of the water to gesture at the basin. “I’m just trying to help him out,” Lance responded, feigning innocence.

 

“Oh, really?” Hunk responded flatly, one eyebrow raising in disbelief. Before Lance could defend himself, he said “Keith, take this to Pidge, will you?” His finger jabbed towards a bowl on the counter.

 

Keith stood, grunting as he tried to stay off of his bad leg. Thinking back to it, Pidge wasn’t there, was he? “Where is he?”

 

“Just at the end of the hall, I think,” Hunk replied as Keith picked up the bowl.

 

“Okay, I’ll be back,” Keith called before turning the corner and quickly leaving the mess hall, careful not to spill the soup. He headed down the hall and entered the room Hunk said, finding a small cargo room. “Pidge?”

 

“Back here,” a voice cried from the other side of a wall of crates.

 

Keith slid between the stacks, popping out to see Pidge’s butt sticking in the air as they rummaged head first in a crate. “What are you doing?” He asked.

 

“Looking for a part,” Pidge briefly explained, voice muffled. He pulled himself out of the crate, something metallic catching the light in his clenched fist. “What do you need?”

 

Keith held up the bowl of soup. “Hunk sent a delivery.”

 

Pidge jumped down, collecting the soup from Keith’s hands. “Thanks. I’m kind of busy now, but I’ll drop by before I go to sleep, if anyone is still up.”

 

“Okay,” Keith said, slipping in between the crates and heading out of the room with a quick “bye” before returning to the mess hall to help out.

 

By the time he got there, Hunk and Lance had already started putting away the clean dishes. “Oh, hey Keith. You tired?” Hunk asked when he saw him enter.

 

“Yeah, a little. You guys are already done?”

 

“Yeah,” Lance responded, patting Hunk on the shoulder proudly. “Hunk is a magician with this stuff. I’ll take you back to your room.”

 

Keith stepped back automatically when Lance stepped closer to him, his hands twitching defensively. When Lance stopped, he relaxed a little, but he still eyed him warily. “Okay, let’s go,” Keith said as he turned and set off. He guessed he understood why someone always had to escort him back with the lock and all, but it was still kind of a pain. He’d rather it be Hunk, but Hunk told him to go with Lance, so whatever.

 

Lance and Keith exited the mess hall and returned to the room where Keith and Coran were being held. The walk was short, so they didn’t really talk. Keith entered his cell and sat down on his bench with a sigh, glancing over at Coran sleeping on his side in the other. He looked up in surprise when he felt Lance touch his knee. “What are you doing?” Keith demanded, retracting his leg.

 

“I need to look at your leg. Stick it out,” Lance ordered. Keith hesitated, before putting his foot on the wall across from him and sliding up his pants to unwrap the bandage and present his wound. Lance gently laid his hand on the skin between Keith’s knee and the wound, examining the wound. “It doesn’t look like it’s infected, which is good. It seems to be scabbing over well enough. Has it started itching yet?”

 

Keith shrugged, uncomfortable by the intimacy of the position between him and Lance. He was eager to finish the conversation. “Not really.”

 

Lance stood up. “Don’t rewrap it at this point. You should tell someone if it starts to warm up or you tear open a scab or something,” Lance suggested, eyes boring into Keith’s.

 

“I know how to take care of myself,” Keith responded defensively.

 

“But it’s better to get help when you need it,” Lance said as he stepped out of the cell and locked the door behind him. He left the room without another word, and Keith turned over to curl into a ball on the plank. After a long day of working, sleep found him easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, I hope it was satisfactory. I know you must be thinking "Is this really a Klance/Laith fic? There seems to be a lot more Hunk than anyone else??" I promise, once yhe next chapter hits, things change. Right now, I have to work through the knot I've gotten myself into. Sorry, I promise it's coming. Please don't hate me. Feel free to leave comments or kudos. Responses give me life.


	4. A Busy Leisure Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith believes he is given unfair work, so he convinces Lance to help him, but Lance turns it into a competition. Problems ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, I've been really busy lately. I finally got this out though. I finished a huge essay last weekend, so that's nice. I'm going to a concert and have a lot of other work to do, but I figured that, because I was so close to being done, I would go ahead and finish this chapter. It's my longest chapter yet, so that's a milestone. Fun, fun. I have gotten around to proofreading, but it still might not be perfect. Just say something if it's bothering you. I know what you're thinking: "Wow, he didn't not update for half a year! Crazy! Maybe it'll be normal..." I'm sorry, I'm really bad about updating. I'm trying to write somewhat regularly so I can at least get something done in a week involving this story. I'm trying, I really am. I'm hoping to be able to update more often. Also, wow, I finally got around to Lance and Keith interacting. I might be the worst about that. I'm also bad at emotions? I don't know, dudes. Let me know how you think I'm doing.

A few days had passed. Keith woke up, neck sore from sleeping on the wooden plank, and stretched, slowly sitting up as his spine popped into place. Looking over, drowsiness clouding his vision, he saw the still sleeping figure of Coran on the other side of the room. Extending his injured leg to rest on the nearby wall, he folded himself in half to inspect his leg. It didn’t really hurt so much anymore, even though it itched like crazy. He shifted so he could rest his feet on the ground before carefully standing up, eyes squinted in preparation for some form of pain. There was no pain. He shifted his weight from leg to leg before bending his knees to crouch then extend his toes to stretch out. Nothing. Keith marched in place, before growing bold and running in place, the wood creaking in protest beneath him. A grin split his face. He jumped, then crouched, then leap up into the air from his lowered position. His head collided with the ceiling and he let out a grunt of pain, but through it all, he felt great. He was free.

 

“Keith, what are you doing?” Coran asked grumpily, sleep slowing his speech.

 

Keith looked over to see Coran on an arm, glowering at him through the sets of bars. Coran couldn’t bring down his mood nonetheless. “I think I’m healed enough to do things normally,” Keith told him through his smile.

 

Coran perked up. “Congratulations,” he responded genuinely.

 

Keith beamed at him before bending down to place his hands on either side of his wound. Carefully, he used his fingers to gently stretch the skin out then scrunch it up a little. It still hurt, especially when the skin was stretched, but that wasn’t a normal thing to happen, so it wasn’t a big deal.

 

“Do you know what you’re doing today?” Coran asked him as Keith straightened up.

 

Keith’s face dropped a little. “I don’t know,” he said with a slight shrug. Maybe he would be left in here for another day. It was unfair that Coran was given things to do and Keith was stuck rotting half of the time in a cell.

 

Coran smiled at him comfortingly, surely noticing the change in demeanor. “They’ll probably work you to your limit once they know you’re well enough.”

 

Keith sighed as he sat down. “That’d be nice, at this point. I need a break from having time on my hands to do nothing.”

 

Coran nodded from across the room. “I find you too often doing work in your free time, mostly training, to disbelieve you,” he joked.

 

“Old habits die hard,” Keith quipped.

 

The door swung open, revealing Shiro in the hall. Keith jumped up and pressed his body to the bars. “Are you here for me?” he asked hopefully, still too excited to be reserved.

 

Shiro looked at him, pouring brotherly affection out onto him. Shiro probably knew how much this was driving him crazy. If that was true, he mourned that Shiro hadn’t come to relieve him of his confinement more often. Maybe he would be mad about it later. Maybe. “I’m going to get Coran, actually,” Shiro said sheepishly as he collected the key and moved to Coran’s cell. “Lance will get you later, though.”

 

“When later?” Keith pressed, impatient to stretch properly as Shiro unlocked Coran’s door.

 

Shiro shrugged, pulling the door open for Coran. “He sleeps in,” Shiro explained.

 

Keith scowled. “Of course, I get stuck with the idiot who doesn’t even wake up in the morning,” he grumbled.

 

Shiro positioned himself in front of Keith’s door, key sliding into the lock. “I’ll open this up, but stay here until he gets you. He’ll throw a fit if he has to hunt you down and we’ll be the ones who have to hear about it for the next month,” Shiro joked as he let Keith out.

 

Keith stepped out of the cell and into the room. There wasn’t a lot more space, but at least he could move around some. “Thanks, Shiro,” he said with a grateful sigh.

 

“Don’t get into any trouble,” Shiro told him with a wink as he and Coran exited the room, closing the door with a soft click.

 

Keith paced up and down the room, taking the freedom to inspect every nook and cranny. The room had a wider mouth, probably make enough space for a guard or two and maybe a few people who came in to visit someone or question them. It narrowed into a small corner with four cells, the first two narrow without shackles connected to the wall. The second two were slightly wider with iron shackles connected to the wall. These cells didn’t have normal bars, instead of being solid iron walls, probably to protect the crew and other prisoners as well as to better contain them. These cells were for the serious prisoners, and this was the first time he had the chance to peek inside them. The rooms were wider, but there was also barely any light filtering in and there was only the floor inside. Keith examined the shackles, finding the ones for the wrists to be much longer than the ones for the ankles, which barely gave enough room to get far from the wall. That, combined with the wrist restraints, would keep most anyone from reaching the door. He let the chains fall to the floor, backing out of the cell.

 

Keith hurried to the mouth of the room, eager to use the extra space to move around. He swung his leg up, testing its reach. It hurt to bring it up too high, but otherwise, it was fine. Keith punched the air, before kicking and swiping and dodging like the faced an actual enemy. In his mind, he had one. He jumped too far to the side, crashing into the bars of his cell. He felt metal press into his skin and he drew in his breath sharply. He investigated the wound, discovering he forgot to give Hunk his knife back, explaining the new injury from his carelessness. It wasn’t bleeding badly, so he decided to ignore it, playing with the knife in his hand. It had a nice weight to it, and he flipped it around in his fingers, finding that the handle was worn, even though it still had a comfortable hold. He swiped the knife in the air a few times, adjusting to its feel, before continuing his imaginary battle. Seconds passed, or maybe minutes, when he felt the room starting to heat up from his movement. A while later, minutes or hours, who was counting, Keith twisted his torso, using his knife to slice a long arch through the air, an unexpected object hitting Keith’s back moments before the blade hit it back.

 

The loud thump was followed by a short shriek of surprise, causing Keith to whip around, abandoning his stuck knife to leap into a defensive position, arms drawn to block or attack at a second’s notice. Hunk’s startled face appeared from the other side of what he quickly realized to be the door of the room. Keith’s arms dropped and he straightened up, watching Hunk’s expression shift from startled to frazzled as he looked over Keith.

 

“What are you doing in here, Keith?” Hunk asked, his voice high and strained, clearly still affected from moments before.

 

Keith hesitated. He didn’t know exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t sparring because there was no partner, but he was kind of honing his skills, kind of? Maybe not really, because he didn’t really have much of a target to go for. Blowing off steam? He had been kind of itching to do something like that for a long time. “Exercising,” Keith answered simply, deciding that in, any case, he was doing that.

 

Hunk looked at him like he was crazy, before looking at the door. “Why is my knife in the door?”

 

“I found it still on me, and I thought it would be good to work with one again. I wasn’t expecting you to open the door,” Keith added defensively.

 

“Shiro said you were waiting for Lance. You must have expected  _someone_  to open the door,” Hunk pointed out, hand reaching up to grasp the handle of his knife and tug on it.

 

Keith frowned, unable to come up with a response. Hunk got him there.

 

“Look, Keith, it isn’t a big deal,” Hunk said as he stepped fully into the room and let the door fall shut behind him. “I brought you this,” Hunk added, presenting a bowl of rice and diced vegetables that he had hidden in his other hand.

 

Keith took it from him, letting the scent hit him. It smelled like tomatoes and some spice he couldn’t recognize. “Thanks, but is it even time for lunch?”

 

“Yeah. It’s around one right now,” Hunk mumbled, focused on his meticulous shifting of the knife to coax it out of the door.

 

Keith turned his head sharply towards Hunk in surprise. “What time did Shiro get Coran?”

 

Hunk squinted, pausing for a moment. “Around nine, I think.”

 

“What the hell is Lance doing?” Keith demanded, frustration evident in his voice.

 

Hunk pulled sharply out from the door, taking the knife with him. “Tuesdays are the days that people can laze around a little if they want and there are no problems that they need to address. He’s taking his time getting ready or something,” Hunk explained, tucking his knife into his belt and then letting his arms gesture as they pleased.

 

“Why am I getting punished for being confined,” Keith groaned out, more of a statement than a question.

 

Hunk looked at him, his warm eyes soft on Keith’s face. “He’ll come around eventually. How is your leg?”

 

Keith let the conversation change without an argument. “It’s doing well, actually. I think it’s to the point that I can work without it getting in the way.”

 

Hunk smiled at him, before letting out a soft chuckle. “Then we’ll really have to put you to work, won’t we?” he teased.

 

“Honestly, that’d be better than just sitting around,” Keith admitted to the chef, his hand reaching for his spoon to start eating before it got cold.

 

“I think he’s been keeping you here out of concern for your leg. Last time, when you were out with me, you weren’t doing that well. You’ll have more things to do once Lance believes that it’s healed up.”

 

Keith chewed thoughtfully. “Today, I’ll show him, even if I have to kick his ass to do it,” Keith vowed.

 

Hunk laughed. “Let’s hope that doesn’t have to happen. Lance never lets it down when someone beats him.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “I can imagine,” he said with a scoff.

 

“He’s not all bad. He just wants to feel useful, and he doesn’t when someone bests him,” Hunk said softly.

 

Keith didn’t respond, just bringing more food to his mouth. Keith could understand, he supposed. That’s why he always trained so hard, even if it was for some other, slightly convoluted reason. Keith picked up his pace, assuming Hunk was waiting for him to finish. Presenting his empty bowl in front of him, he nodded to Hunk, thanking him for the food.

 

“No problem,” he said, taking the bowl. “Try not to hurt yourself, or the room, for that matter, while you wait. He should be around soon,” Hunk joked as he left the room, leaving Keith alone again.

 

Keith sunk to the ground, nestling himself in a corner. He tended to feel lethargic after eating sometimes. It’s probably a problem with tomatoes. He always felt this way after eating something with tomatoes. He wondered where Lance was. He wondered what Coran was doing. He wondered why Shiro hadn’t come to check up on him more. He wondered until sleep finally overcame his wandering mind.

 

Keith felt a wave of warm air hit his face. He turned his head, still half asleep, curling further into himself. He felt the hair on his face fall strangely to the side, and he felt a pressure on the tip of his nose. Keith’s eyes drifted open, and he saw a face through his eye lashes. Instantly awake and in alarm, he stretched out his body, wrapping his legs around the stranger quickly and flipping him over, a pained grunt coming from below him. Keith had one hand digging into the chest of the stranger and his other curled into a fist and prepared to strike. Keith quickly blinked the bleariness out of his eyes and looked down at a very stunned Lance below him.

 

“What are you doing?” Keith demanded, relaxing his arms.

 

“Well, I was trying to wake you up until you attacked me,” Lance snapped back.

 

Keith stood up, letting Lance out of the makeshift cage he had created with his torso and legs. “You scared me.”

 

Lance shifted up, supporting his torso on his elbows. “I was trying to do just the opposite,” Lance growled out, his brows furrowed.

 

Keith sighed, offering a hand to the man on the ground. What an idiot. Lance paused before taking Keith’s hand, letting his attacker hoist him up into a standing position. “What’s the plan?” Keith asked, shifting the conversation.

 

Lance sidestepped into the other corner, where a wide brush was set against the wall. He picked it up and held it out for Keith. “You’re going to scrub the upper deck. If it’s not done by dinner, you’ll be doing more,” Lance told him as he walked around him to the door.

 

Keith cocked his hip. “Alone?”

 

“Yeah, alone,” Lance said pointedly.

 

“That’s not fair. The upper deck is huge, and you know I’ve not done things like this enough to be efficient.”

 

“Well, you have until dinner to finish.”

 

“What time is it now?”

 

“Close to three.”

 

Keith drew his eyebrows together. “That’s not fair. You know I won’t be able to do it in time. I’ll miss dinner.”

 

“There aren’t many people up there. You’ll be fine.”

 

“You’re setting me up for failure and you know it.”

 

Lance huffed, spinning around sharply. “If I help you, will you shut up?”

 

Keith finally took the brush out of Lance’s outstretched hands. “You’re not my first choice, but fine,” he grumbled.

 

“Hey, you said you’d shut up,” Lance reminded him as he led the way out the door.

 

Keith scoffed but said nothing in return. When Lance turned the opposite way of the upper deck, Keith let out a questioning hum.

 

Lance glanced at him, and his lips twitched up the tiniest bit. “I have to get a brush, and I did forget the buckets. We’ll need a few to get it done. I went ahead and put them together before I headed down.”

 

That reminded Keith. “What took you so long to get me, anyway?” he demanded, frustration resurfacing from this morning.

 

“Oh, mullet, do you really think I can keep up these good looks without the proper amount of sleep? I’m an attractive guy, but sleep really does help. Gives the body time to repair and such,” Lance said, his hand waving at his side.

 

“You try waiting in those cells for days on end with nothing to do. You could at least let me walk around if you’re going to ignore me down there,” Keith reasoned.

 

“We’ll take care of it when your leg is better.”

 

“It is better.”

 

“Really?” Lance asked, traces of disbelief in his voice, as he stopped in front of a closed door. Pushing it open, Lance stepped inside, leaning over to collect some things near the door as Keith peeked over his shoulder. Lance put a hand over his head, a bucket dangling from his thumb. “Take this.”

 

Keith took the bucket, of probably overly soapy water, judging by the level of suds. “Where did you get this water from?” Keith asked mindlessly.

 

“Hunk boils some sea water and filters out whatever salt comes out. It helps clean it up a bit. It isn’t perfect, but it works,” Lance explained, straightening up with a brush tucked below his arm with two buckets in his hands. Lance took a step forward, and Keith took a step back, giving Lance enough space to leave the room.

 

The two carefully maneuver the hallway, trying not to spill the water. Keith felt like he was trying a little harder than Lance, who was easily dodging the crew without losing much water. Keith’s hands twitched in irritation, suddenly doubting that he offered to help completely because of Keith’s complaining. He was probably trying to make him feel worse for being out of his league. He’ll teach that bastard, Keith vowed to himself.

 

They ascended, and Keith was surprised to see the deck so empty. Lance looked at him, picking up on Keith’s baffled expression. “I made the announcement at dinner last night that it would be cleaned tomorrow and that people needed to try to stay off it around this time,” he explained.

 

Keith let out a grunt of acknowledgment, looking around the vast deck, unsure of where to begin.

 

He didn’t have much time to ponder it before Lance interrupted his thoughts. “We’ll start where the deck is raised, by the wheel.”

 

Keith looked over, saying “okay,” before heading in that direction, swinging his brush as he went. Keith could hear Lance following closely behind, and said man slipped in front of him when they reached the stairs. Lance ascended and set his stuff down, rolling up his pants so they set above his knees before shedding his jacket, leaving him in makeshift shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. By the time it took Lance to set himself up, Keith had already hit the ground and started doing his work. “Are you going to be done anytime soon?” Keith asked him, a bit frustrated he was taking so long.

 

Lance scoffed. “Unlike you, I care about the clothing I dress myself in. Besides, I’m helping you out of the kindness of my heart. It’s okay if I do a little less,” he retorted, dropping onto his knees like Keith and dumping some of the soapy water to send it across a portion of the deck.

 

Keith didn’t pay him much mind, using his weight to push down into the stiff bristles, practically sanding the deck to clean it off. This wasn’t something he was used to, so he figured going overboard was better than not doing enough.

 

“Come on, little prince,” Lance cried to him. Keith looked up from his work, to see Lance was already done with a quarter of the deck. “You could at least try.”

 

“At least I’m trying. I’m probably doing a better job than you, anyway,” Keith barked back, scrubbing harder into the deck as he shifted forward.

 

“Hah, you wish. I bet I can do this deck three times as fast as you can and still do a higher quality job,” Lance goaded.

 

“There’s no way you can do a good job going that fast,” Keith stated, his eyes flicking angrily from his work to Lance.

 

“I’ll prove it to you, pretty boy,” Lance said, his chin twitching upward in a challenge.

 

“This isn’t a competition, Lance,” Keith growled back. Even though he was frustrated, he did feel a bit better that he was still advancing through this conversation while Lance was just sitting back on his heels. He’s all talk.

 

“It is now,” Lance declared, leaning back over to continue his work. Keith huffed out a breath of air, leaning over to grab the bucket to cover more of the deck with the water before dropping back down to go back to work. Some time passed, and Keith started to feel the sun uncomfortable warming his back. Sweat started to collect on his neck, and his hair dangled at the side of his vision in damp strands. Before long, that section of the deck was finished.

 

“Are you even trying?” Lance asked him mockingly, standing up to collect his supplies and go to the main part of the deck.

 

Keith pushed himself off the ground, picking up his things as he rose. “You aren’t doing any better by trying to egg me on,” Keith snapped back, following Lance down the stairs and setting himself up on the deck.

 

Lance dropped down to mimic Keith. The two partially dumped their buckets, sending water across most of the deck before bending to continue to scrub. Keith could see Lance was pushing ahead, but he still believed that Lance was just trying to show off, not actually doing an acceptable job. Keith continued to push forward at a steady pace. His wrists ached due to the position and force on them, but he chose to ignore it.

 

“So, you got Lance to do half of the work for you?” Keith heard off to his left, spotting Pidge sitting along the edge of the entrance to the lower decks.

 

“I made him realize he was being unfair,” Keith responded simply, not stopping his work.

 

“Still, good job. He can be really stubborn. I can’t imagine he would have had much better planned for today,” Pidge told him. Keith didn’t respond, and after a long pause, he continued. “Why’s he running across the deck? He’s not going to get much done like that.”

 

Keith looked up to see Lance hurrying across the deck, only doing one pass of a region before moving on, practically running with his ass sticking straight up in the air. He looked ridiculous. “He insisted he could do better than I could while still going faster. He’s made this into some pointless competition,” Keith explained, his words punctuated by the jerky movement of his arms changing his breathing.

 

Pidge chuckled. “Seems about right. Who’s judging the quality?”

 

Keith paused slightly, digging through his memory. Was anyone? He went back to his scrubbing. “No one, right now. I guess Lance will probably do it, but I can’t imagine he’d be unbiased.”

 

“I can do it,” Pidge volunteered.

 

Keith shrugged, but it wasn’t easily noticeable through his movements. “Don’t you have other things to worry about?” He asked curiously.

 

Keith heard metal clinking together and glanced over to see Pidge shaking a small device. “I have everything I need with me.”

 

“What’s that for?” Keith asked as his brush lead him closer to Pidge.

 

“It’s part of a filter I’m working on. Having enough freshwater is one of the biggest problems we have, but if there was a way to filter sea water in large quantities, that would solve a lot of logistics problems.”

 

“How would it work?” Keith asked, and Pidge answered. Keith wasn’t really paying attention, but it gave him some noise to drown out what Lance was doing. The continuous scrape of Lance’s brush was starting to bother him, and it gave him something to think about other than the oppressive heat.

 

Time went on. Keith only noticed because the sun was noticeably lower now, but still high enough to mock him. Keith stood up, a frustrated sigh leaving his chest as he shucked his shirt to the ledge of the deck. In hindsight, perhaps that could have been a bad idea since he could have lost his shirt if he had tossed a bit higher, but it was okay because it didn’t fall off, rather hitting where he had planned. Keith noticed that Lance had already done a portion of his section and that this region of the deck was almost done. Keith rubbed his neck then wiped his sweat covered hand on his pants before falling back to his knees to finish the process. He thought his wrists would be stuck in this position for the rest of the week. Keith continued with his work until Lance crashed into him.

 

Keith let out a short shout, falling backward before catching himself on his elbows. He looked down to see a stunned Lance strewn out in his lap. “What the hell, Lance?” Keith demanded, twisting his body to throw Lance off.

 

Lance rolled onto the deck, launching out a hand to catch himself on the wet ground. “What the hell yourself! Why’d you push me onto the deck?”

 

“Why’d you ram into me?” Keith shot back, rubbing his chin where Lance’s crown collided, scowling at Lance.

 

“Why’d you have to be in the way? If you weren’t in the way, I wouldn’t have gone into your space to make up for your slowness. You’re worse than a snail,” Lance yelled, pushing himself onto his feet, rubbing his head.

 

“If you weren’t trying so hard to rush it, it wouldn’t have happened,” Keith yelled back, hopping to his own feet to glare up at him. Not super effective, but whatever. He didn’t care.

 

“Hey,” Pidge cried out, attracting the attention of the two. “Fighting isn’t solving anything. Just move on!”

 

Lance glowered. “It’s his fault for going so slowly!”

 

Keith clenched his teeth, about to spit out another harsh remark, but was beaten by Pidge. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is, just get on with it,” Pidge commanded.

 

Lance and Keith exchanged glares before collecting their things a bit more aggressively than necessary and moving up to the last part of the deck. At this point, all that was left was the last half of the third bucket, and Lance used most of it on his side. Keith had to start on the edges to get some of the soapy water Lance had dumped onto his own side. Pidge didn’t follow them up to this side of the deck, choosing to stay in his spot. At this point, Keith was exhausted, overheated, and frustrated, so he just wanted to be done, going a bit faster. It wasn’t much of a big deal, though, because, over the time, he seemed to be getting a tad bit faster anyway.

 

Lance ended up passing Keith again, before jumping up and shouting “Done!” Lance waltz down the steps, saying over his shoulder, “Keith, that was so easy. You really have to get faster at this.” Keith stood up slowly, stretching as he went, as Lance called to Pidge. “Hey, Pidgey, you don’t really need to look at who did a better job. I obviously will for speed, and my quality is surely almost perfect.”

 

Pidge slipped off his perch and began walking up and down the deck, studying the two sides. Before he had even finished going through the entire deck, Pidge stopped, declaring “Keith won.”

 

The sides of Keith’s lips twitched upwards. He figured something like this might happen. Lance talks himself up more than he should.

 

“Why do you say that?” Lance cried out, probably infuriated he lost.

 

“Keith actually got his section clean. It’s hardly noticeable someone even tried to clean your sections. There’s so much grime, no one would care,” Pidge explained, “so Keith won. He did quality work, while you only considered speed.”

 

Lance gaped incredulously. “My crew is betraying me for a prisoner,” Lance stated dramatically, loud enough that Keith and probably also Pidge could hear him, but not louder. He paused, before raising his voice and yelling about mutiny.

 

“Whatever, Lance. Just redo it,” Pidge yelled back as he disappeared down the stairs.

 

Lance looked at Keith, eyes wide. “I’m not redoing this alone. You’re going to help me,” Lance yelled, pointing dramatically at Keith.

 

Keith scoffed. “I kind of figured.” Keith bent down to pick up one of the emptied buckets. “We don’t really have the stuff for it, though.”

 

Lance glanced over the deck, and Keith followed his eyes out. Most of the deck had dried under the sun, so the only parts that were still cleanable with what they had were the ones that were just done.  “I’ll fill a couple of buckets. You work up here,” Lance told Keith, walking up to take the bucket from Keith’s hand before hurrying to grab another and go below deck.

 

Keith watched him go silently, before kneeling back down to continue. This whole process would have been faster and less wasteful if Lance had just taken it seriously. Now they both had to do more work. Keith’s lips pressed into a fine line as he thought, bristles scraping loudly against the wood. Before he realized it, he was done with the section. For a moment, he felt a wave of frustration because he hadn’t seen Lance up yet to help, but he spotted him working on the other side of the deck. His frustration was replaced with tinges of guilt for not trusting him to come back. He pushed it out of his mind because it’s not like it would be something Lance wouldn’t do—skipping out on work and leaving him alone to do it. Or maybe it wasn’t something he’d do, maybe he just was jumping to conclusions about him… Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Keith stood up with a sigh, putting his brush between his arm and his chest. He hurried over to the other side of the deck, trying to grab another bucket.

 

Lance looked at Keith as he approached, but just looked back down with a frown when they made eye contact, as Keith noticed. Keith crouched down to pick up the bucket that had the most water in it, glancing over to where Lance was working. He had actually gotten really far, considering how he had less time than Keith, and was almost done with his section. His work wasn’t half bad either. Maybe if Lance actually took his work seriously, they wouldn’t have to have redone this either. He might have even won. Although, it doesn’t matter who wins anyway. It was a stupid competition.

 

“Why are you just standing there?” Lance said, bringing Keith back from his thoughts.

 

Keith blinked, looking over to Lance, whose torso was turned to give him a more comfortable angle to examine Keith. Keith shifted defensively under his gaze. “I’m just thinking.”

 

Lance rolled his eyes. “You can think while you work.”

 

Keith’s eyebrows twitched closer together. “I wasn’t here for that long,” Keith responded, anger adding a bite to his words.

 

Lance shifted so that he could relax his body a bit while still maintaining eye contact with Keith. “We also don’t have all day to do this,” Lance retorted.

 

Keith clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He set the bucket in his hand on the ledge next to him, glaring out at the water before looking back at Lance. “If you had tried to do a decent job the first time, we would have been done by now,” Keith growled, his voice lowering as he spoke.

 

“If you hadn’t begged me to help you in the first place, you wouldn’t have forced me to rush it,” Lance shouted back.

 

“I didn’t force you to do anything!”

 

Lance sighed dramatically. “Whatever, man,” he spat out before turning around to continue his work.

 

Keith glared at him for a moment longer, more things to say reverberating through his skull, but he bit his tongue, taking his bucket and stomping down the stairs to the main section of the deck. He walked to the farthest edge of what had to be redone, dropping down and dumping part of his bucket on the wood in front of him. He took his brush and worked the bristles into the wood. What an ass. He was just being an annoyance to get a rise out of him. He’s just lazy. He said it himself, he never had any intention to do anything today. Maybe not directly, but closely enough. Whatever.

 

Why was he even on this ship? They seemed to not even have a destination, no message had been sent out to get money from him. He’s just been sitting around, doing nothing and waiting for someone to come visit him and sooth his boredom. Coran seemed to have practically integrated with the crew, but he was just rotting. No one else seems particularly interested in treating Keith as a prisoner. His presence is such a waste. No one would notice if he slipped away, he’d probably be too far away for them to find him if he left early in the night, a night when no one was on guard. Maybe a break night like this would be one of those times.

 

Shiro owed him answers, though. It’s not like he was really eager to get out. He could think of better things to do, but he was safe here, safe from getting picked up by someone with worse intentions, safe from the wrath of his father, from all his responsibilities. He was bored and cramped, but at least people didn’t expect him to be something he’s not. Or maybe Lance does. Lance seems to expect him to be some pretentious, privileged prince. Yeah, in some ways he was privileged, but Lance didn’t know the half of his life.

 

Lance probably had some problems too. He’s a little too eager to push his authority. Or maybe he is just a prick. It didn’t give him a right either way to look down on him this way.

 

“Hey, watch out,” an angry voice called out, dragging Keith from his thoughts as his legs automatically rammed him into Lance, causing Keith to push him over and awkwardly collapse on top of him, Lance’s brush falling out of his hands and sliding across the deck.

 

Keith quickly pulled himself away, but not before a knee collided with his side, roughly pushing him off to the side and causing him to lose grip of his brush, sending it sliding along with Lance’s. Pain throbbed where the knee met his rib cage, and he groaned, anger bubbling up in his chest. “What was that for?” Keith barked at Lance.

 

“Oh, so when I run into you, you can throw me to the side, but when you run into me, you get pissy when I pushed you off,” Lance said, his voice raised and frustration lacing his tone.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“Earlier when you hurt me because I fell on you,” Lance said matter-of-factly.

 

Keith’s brows furrowed in anger. “I didn’t try to break your ribs!”

 

“I wasn’t going to break your ribs!”

 

“You easily could have been doing that! You could have punctured a lung with that force!”

 

“Oh, shut it. You’re just being dramatic!”

 

“What the fuck? You’re so melodramatic all the time; I’m the one being serious. You just mess around and hope things turn out well!”

 

“I’m keeping this crew together!”

 

“You don’t do any work, and no one respects you as a leader! Even I can see that, and I’m rarely around you!”

 

Lance shifted up, and Keith noticed his fists clenching. Lance’s stance was getting aggressive, so he shifted to a more defendable stance. If he wanted to fight, fine. Maybe he’ll let up if he gets some of that damn unreasonable anger out.

 

“You don’t know the half of what I do for this team! You have no right to talk, all you do is sit around in that cell and wait!”

 

“And whose fault is that? It’s not like I can just get up and help if I’m locked in there!”

 

“Do you think I have nothing better to do than managing you?”

 

“You don’t seem like you have anything better to do, no!”

 

 “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand!” Lance shouted as his coiled position suddenly sprung forward and knocked Keith backward.

 

Keith was expecting a fist first, and the sudden impact of Lance’s weight forcing him back overwhelmed him as his shoulder blades were forced to the deck. Keith’s breath was knocked out in a strained cough, and Keith looked up to see a fist being lifted above him. Keith’s hand darted forward to grab Lance’s wrist before his fist crashed into him. Keith’s leg curled up under Lance’s body and he kicked up as hard as he could, his foot catching on Lance’s hip bones and forcing him backward.

 

Lance’s hand unclenched and grabbed onto Keith’s retracting wrist, pulling Keith forward. Lance’s leg came forward and dug into Keith’s stomach, forcing the air out of him. Lance’s leg pushed up, disturbing Keith’s balance and sending him tipping to the ground.

 

Keith’s stretched his legs out in front of him, wrapping them around Lance’s then twisting to flip him over as he fell himself. Keith caught himself on the deck, pain shooting through his wrists with how hard he slammed his hand into it. Nonetheless, he scrambled to shift position and crawl to Lance. When Lance tried to squirm forward far enough to have the time to right himself, Keith grabbed his ankles and sharply pulled him back, causing Lance’s arms to collapse under him with a grunt. Keith launched himself forward, sliding over so he could straddle Lance’s back to use his weight to pin him down.

 

As Keith reached forward to grab Lance’s arm to pull it back to immobilize him, Lance’s pulled his arms and legs in far enough to use them to jolt his body upwards and to the side, forcing Keith to fall over while Lance fell on top of him.

 

The combination of the fall and Lance’s weight on him left Keith breathless again. Their bodies slipped uncomfortably on each other; Keith wasn’t sure if it was from their sweat mixing as their hot skin kept colliding or from the water the two had gotten on themselves while they worked. He was sure he was going to have some nice bruises tomorrow from all these collisions. I was almost nice to get into a fight again. There was something intimate about this kind of fighting, as he could feel the muscles moving in his opponent’s body, he could hear the short breaths of pain, he could see the emotion in their face. Keith wrapped his arms around Lance’s, pulling them back to restrain him. Lance pulled right back, and one of his legs swept back to collide with Keith’s side. Keith grunted but didn’t let himself lose balance. He pushed his weight forward to Lance would start to fold in on himself. Lance let out a whine, probably because his legs were stuck in weird angles, and Keith could feel the other man’s torso pushing back against him as his breath came out as forceful grunts, but it wasn’t enough.

 

When Keith could feel Lance’s muscles slacken in defeat, he took a deep breath in and broke the silence. “Are you done now?” Keith asked quietly, calmly.

 

“Just let me go,” Lance muttered back, his shoulders flexing against Keith’s chest. This is usually a really uncomfortable position.

 

Keith untangled his arms from Lance’s, pulling his body back to sit on his heels. Lance’s shoulders rolled as he shifted his body into a more comfortable position. Lance paused, and Keith watched his shoulders shift as he took a breath in. Maybe he should have been a little less rough when getting him down. Lance was unusually quiet. Maybe he should say something. Keith opened his mouth to apologize, but Lance stood and walked over to his brush, kicking Keith’s toward him, before Keith could come up with something to say.

 

“It’s getting late. We should finish this up,” Lance said simply, dropping down to his knees to finish what he had been working on.

 

Keith watched him for a few moments longer, unsure of what he should do. With a sigh, he crawled forward to grab his brush and dump some more water out on the last section to be dealt with. For the rest of the cleaning process, they didn’t talk. The only sounds were the lapping of waves against the side of the boat and the bristles scraping against the wood. Lance and Keith slowly worked their ways to each other, regarding the other with apprehension for a moment before Pidge’s voice broke through the discomfort between them.

 

“Are you guys still working?”

 

Keith’s head whipped to the side, surprised at his sudden presence. Keith could see Lance shift in his peripheral vision as the other man said, “we just finished.”

 

“Dinner just finished. Hunk told me to come find you guys,” Pidge explained, stepping fully onto the deck. He looked down at the deck beneath him before saying, “It looks a lot better.”

 

“I thought Hunk said that there weren’t exceptions for people who were late,” Keith said, thinking aloud.

 

Lance chuckled. “Hunk tends to let things like that slide.” He stood up with a sigh, and Keith mirrored his actions, stretching as he went. Keith winced from his battered muscles reminding him off the fight, but still picked up his bucket and his brush through it. He wasn’t about to let Lance see that the fight took some of the life out of him. He walked over to where he had abandoned his shirt, quickly pulling it on around the objects he carried.

 

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Keith said, a fond smile tugging at his lips. Hunk, from as far as Keith can tell, is a really great guy, and he is eager to get to know him better. Keith is almost sad that he had never met Hunk earlier, or, at least, never really knew him earlier. He’s met a lot of people in his lifetime, but most of them, he managed to forget. The pleasantries of social gatherings always left him feeling bored and uninterested in people. Keith felt a pang of guilt in the bottle of his stomach, but pushed it away, telling himself that he couldn’t help forgetting all the people he met only briefly before being whisked off to meet more people or do other things.

 

Lance put his arms behind his head and, if Keith wasn’t mistaken, winced in the process, picking up his shirt before strutting over to Pidge. Keith scurried after the two, almost stepping on Lance’s heels as he began to descend. These leisure days or whatever were a lot more relaxed than he had assumed—there corridor was almost completely empty, save one person awkwardly lugging a box further down it. The trio turned into the mess hall, and Keith was greeted by the strong scent of onions, causing him to wrinkle his nose.

 

“Glad to see you two could make it,” Hunk called to them, appearing from behind the half wall towards the back, rubbing his hands on a cloth.

 

Lance laughed, walking back to meet Hunk. “Would I ever miss it, buddy?” Lance asked, leaning on the counter the Hunk stood behind.

 

Hunk snorted, smiling. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

 

Lance laughed, leaning closer to Hunk to pat his shoulder. “I’ve almost missed it, but you never let me go without.”

 

Pidge cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but I have some things I’d like to look over before it gets too late,” he said, stepping back out the door, obviously eager to leave.

 

“Sure thing, Pidge. Thanks for bringing these two down,” Hunk replied, speaking loud enough that Keith could hear him clearly across the hall, as Pidge left. Hunk turned towards Keith, who had begun walking to join the other two in the room, before continuing, “Are you two hungry? I have a lukewarm rice dish still waiting to be finished. I didn’t make a lot, but there’s enough left for you.”

 

“I’m fine with anything,” Keith responded with a shrug.

 

“Whatever you give us, it’ll be good. Do what’s easiest for you,” Lance replied, his hand waving.

 

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Hunk said simply as he wandered back behind the wall.

Keith could hear Hunk shuffling around and various objects clattering against each other as he gently set his bucket on the floor, leaving his brush inside of it. Straightening his back, Keith noticed Lance pulling on his shirt. Maybe he was imagining it, but Keith thought that he saw some bruises forming just before his skin disappeared under. They had been a little rough with each other.

 

Lance tapped his fingers on the wooden counter, humming a song Keith wasn’t familiar with. It was kind of nice. Lance could...hum well, Keith supposed. The noise he was making was kind of comforting. It gave him something to focus on. There was never anything to focus on in his cell.

 

Keith was drawn out of his thoughts when Lance stopped suddenly. “Sorry about lunging at you earlier,” he said slowly.

 

Keith stared at him for a moment, surprise raising one of his eyebrows, before pushing his hair back with a sigh. “It’s fine. Neither of us made the best decisions.”

 

“Yeah,” Lance said softly, his fingers going back to the counter to drum.

 

Hunk appeared, keeping the conversation from drifting into an uncomfortable pause, with two bowls. “Dinner is served,” Hunk chirped, setting the two bowls on the table.

 

“Thank you, my friend,” Lance responded, picking up one of the bowls. Keith picked up the other and started walking to find some place to sit. In theory, there were many seats, so it should have been easy, but he wanted to find one that really appealed to him.

 

“Do you mind cleaning up once you’re done? I haven’t had a break all day,” Hunk started to explain before Lance interrupted him.

 

“Hunk, go enjoy your evening. I’ll make sure things are taken care of,” Lance told him. Keith found a nice spot along the wall, nicely situated between two candles so he didn’t have too much direct light, but he could still see what he was eating. It was a cool spot, which was also appreciated.

 

Hunk thanked Lance, taking off his apron and abandoning it on the counter before leaving, shouting a good bye to the two as he departed. Lance took the chance to find a place to sit, which, much to Keith’s surprise, was directly across from Keith.

 

Keith looked at Lance skeptically. This could be a power move, but maybe Lance was just trying to be nice. Or maybe he didn’t want to be lonely? Keith looked down at his food, deciding to ponder something else. The dish appeared to be rice, tomatoes, onions, and some various plants or herbs. Keith wasn’t quite sure. He took an experimental bite. It wasn’t bad, so whatever it was made of, it was fine.

 

Lance intruded into his thoughts again. “I’m exhausted,” he said simply before taking a bite.

 

It was probably loneliness. “It’s nothing like normal military work. You’d wake up, do work, take classes, train, do more work, sleep, then do it all again the next day,” Keith mumbled around his food.

 

“I had tried to get accepted into the military academy,” Lance responded after he swallowed. “They didn’t accept me because my scores weren’t high enough.”

 

“I had to go. I wasn’t meant to be a social leader like Shiro, but the military was his vision for me. I could be a general and make Shiro’s life easier.” Keith paused to eat another bite. “That was the plan, anyway.

 

“At least people expected something out of you. The only expectations I had were that I would be a disappointment,” Lance replied quietly. Keith didn’t respond, not knowing what to say, just taking another bite, and Lance didn’t continue.

 

Silence fell between them, and in this time Keith reflected as he ate. Lance doesn’t seem completely bad. Maybe he’s had a rough past, or maybe he has some emotional problems or something. Why was he sitting here, eating with his captor? Lance couldn’t seem to get his attitude steady—he was either unnecessarily rude or…something else. Keith wasn’t sure what. Nice, maybe? Open? Why is all of this happening?

 

They ate in silence for a while, before Lance broke it. “Your leg seems to be better today,” he commented.

 

Keith chuckled to himself. Maybe Lance had noticed when they were fighting that it didn’t cause him problems. He had told himself that he would prove to Lance that his leg had healed enough to let him do more so he wasn’t just left to rot even if it meant fighting him. “Yeah. I was thinking that it was well enough that I could do some more work.”

 

Lanced laughed. “Most people aren’t eager to do work.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “It’s better than just sitting around in a cage all day.”

 

Lance continued with a short chuckle. “Fair enough. I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“Thanks,” Keith mumbled. He felt suddenly unsure about this scenario. He doesn’t feel like a hostage. He feels like he should feel slightly more like a hostage. He pushes the thought to the back of his mind as he hurriedly finished his meal. Keith stood up, beginning to walk towards the kitchen with his bowl, before feeling long fingers wrap around his wrist.

 

Keith looked down, to see Lance holding him back. “I’ll take care of the cleanup. I’ll come back to you to get you settled back in your cell. Don’t want you straining your leg too much,” Lance added, and Keith might have thought his tone was…playful? Teasing? Friendly? But he decided that it probably wasn’t. But he also wasn’t in good standing to fight because Lance was probably going to lock the door behind him, meaning he had to be there.

 

“Okay,” Keith said hesitantly, slowly setting his bowl back down as Lance retracted his hand and stood up. The two began to leave the room and make the short trip to Keith’s holding region.

 

“There might be a bit of space in the sleeping quarters, you know,” Lance started. Keith hummed curiously, prompting Lance to continue, “You and Coran might be able to move down there, if you were interested. It’s better than wooden planks for beds.”

 

Keith looked at Lance from the corner of his eye. He looked serious enough. “I thought we were prisoners,” Keith remarked, slightly skeptical.

 

“Most prisoners wouldn’t be allowed to leave the cells very often. You are more,” Lance paused thoughtfully before continuing “temporary guests.”

 

“Bargaining chips,” Keith offered, a little bitter.

 

Lance sighed. “Look, that region might be more comfortable. It’s kind of crowded, but the lack of space tends to feel less oppressive than in the cells. At least it would allow us to clear this area,” Lance said, gesturing to the cell room they were standing in front of before opening the door, holding it open for Keith to follow.

 

Why would they need to clear it up? Do they have prisoners often? “Do you often house people in here?”

 

Lance smiled softly as he picked the keys up off the wall. “Rarely.”

 

Keith deadpanned. “I should be honored,” Keith said flatly as he stepped into his cell.

 

Lance chuckled. “Don’t get used to it, your highness,” Lance recommended with a slight smile, locking the door on Keith.

 

Lance left, and Keith was left staring at the door where he left. Maybe Lance was trying to be friendly? Maybe there was more to him being kept here than what he originally thought? Maybe this really was a complex situation brought on by complex scenarios. But, then again, keeping people hostage is not considered a good way to deal with most problems. These people aren’t enemies of Voltron, so why have they attacked a Voltron ship? None of this situation was making much sense, Keith thought to himself as he lied down on his plank. He noticed Coran wasn’t back yet. What was Coran sent off to do all this time? Keith continued to think of these things until he could finally find the sleep he so desired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fights. I love writing fights. I'm not good at it, but, boy, do I love it. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, feel free to comment on what you think or on grammar or leave a kudos. Constructive criticism is good, hate is not, so please keep that in mind. Positive reinforcement keeps me going. The only reason I had the drive to actually make headway on this chapter was that I saw a comment from a person that seemed really excited and into my work. So, yeah, let me know what you think. Feedback gives me life. I know I don't have a lot of people who are interested in my work, and even fewer who actually enjoy it, so, to those of you out there who do, you mean a lot to me. Thank you for being there.


	5. Mapping the Past, Setting Course for the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Keith have a talk about everything that happened beforehand, but a distress signal interrupts the discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't updated in a long time. Lately, I've been having a lot of problems at home, and the stress from that and school and everything else has been hard on me. It's been difficult to motivate myself to write. I'm sorry that I've been working on this for a year and a half or so, but this is all I have to show for it. I really appreciate you guys for not pressuring me. I'm sorry to fail expectations anyways. I hope this was worth the wait.

Keith rolled his shoulders, arms tense from carrying boxes all day. For the past few days, crew members had been thinking up jobs for him to do, and Keith had rearranged boxes all day to help Pidge find the parts he needed. It wasn’t necessarily exciting work, but he was glad to have something to do.

 

A soft knock on the door frame caught Keith’s attention, turning his head to spot Shiro walking into the storage room.

 

Pidge peeked over the raised lid of the box he was rummaging through. “Hey, Shiro. What do you need?”

 

“I’m sorry to steal your helper away, but I need to talk to Keith,” Shiro stated, resting his hand on Keith’s shoulder.

 

Keith shrugged his shoulders, dislodging Shiro’s hand. “What do you need to talk about?”

 

“We need to catch up, don’t you think?”

 

Keith scanned Shiro’s face quickly. He has changed immensely since they were kids, even since they saw each other before the crisis. Maybe this would be the only chance he got in a long time because Shiro is always so busy. Keith looked at Pidge. “Do you still need me?”

 

Pidge waved his hand, ducking his head back into the crate. “Nah, I’ll be fine. Do what you need to.”

 

“Thanks,” Keith told him before turning to Shiro with a nod.

 

Shiro walked out the door, throwing a “good luck, Pidge” over his shoulder. He led Keith to the stairs that lead to the deck but paused when he put his foot on the first step. “Do you still smoke?” he asked Keith suddenly.

 

Keith’s eyebrow twitched up in brief surprise, before saying, “Sometimes. The old man told me to stop and blocked most of my ways to get them, but I have them from time to time. A few lieutenants snuck them to me to try to get on my good side.”

 

Shiro chuckled and turned around, gesturing for Keith to follow as he walked past. “I thought you didn’t accept bribes,” Shiro teased.

 

“I didn’t take them as bribes. If they wanted to give me tobacco, then I would take it. They just wouldn’t get what they wouldn’t in return. They never stopped, though,” Keith explained as Shiro brought him into Hunk’s storage room, picking up a small box and pulling out a rolled cigarette.

 

“Take this,” Shiro offered, holding it out to Keith.

 

Keith smiled gently. “I thought you didn’t smoke,” he commented as he took it. He twirled it between his fingers. It looked like whoever rolled it did it rather often. Shiro probably couldn’t have done it with just one hand.

 

“I don’t. Your lieutenants aren’t the only ones to think that they’re a good bribe,” Shiro responded, lightly punching Keith’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

 

Keith pressed the cigarette between his lips and hurried after Shiro. The faint bitter taste of the paper seeped into his mouth as he watched Shiro grab onto the ropes that lead up to the masts. He followed his brother’s lead and sat next to him on the thick wooden support, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and twirling it in his fingers.

 

“It’s not very good to sit on these, you know,” Keith pointed out, looking out at the sun, low on the horizon and warm against the ocean’s chilly breeze.

 

Shiro let out a short laugh. “One day, Telaz got paranoid about the ship sinking one of these days, so a bunch of idiots would flood the crow’s nest and shove him off. He demanded Pidge make it so the masts can hold twenty people without collapsing. Pidge fought him, and Lance sided with Pidge, but when Telaz got the other members in charge of the crow’s nest involved, they refused to come up, so Lance made Pidge bend. Sitting up here is probably sturdier than on the edge of the deck,” Shiro explained, patting the space next to him thoughtfully.

 

“You guys put up with a lot,” Keith noted, glancing at Shiro from the side of his eye.

 

“We don’t look at it that way,” Shiro started. “You’re looking at the scenario as us bending to the wills of unruly men, opening the door to more disciplinary issues; however, it’s for the comfort of our sailors, and a pleased crew means a more compliant one. Besides, it makes it harder for one of our masts to get knocked out in a fight, meaning we can escape quickly if needed.”

 

Keith turned his head to look at Shiro. He blinked a few times, mulling the idea over. “Maybe,” Keith responded noncommittally. Giving into petty demands still makes for a spoiled crew in many situations.

 

“Not everything has to follow the rules you’ve taken to heart,” Shiro informed him, leaning over to jostle Keith with this shoulder. Shiro’s side brushed Keith’s arm, and Keith jerked away from surprise, having expected an arm to collide but receiving Shiro’s entire side.

 

“Sorry about that,” Shiro apologized, sitting back up. “It must be weird for you to see me without an arm still.”

 

“Yeah,” Keith said with a sigh. “But I’ll get used to it.”

 

Shiro’s hand reached across his torso to scratch his shoulder. “Do you want me to tell you why it happened?”

 

Keith figured that this would probably be a long story, but, then again, dinner hadn’t even passed, and the sun still lit up the open. They had time. “Yes.”

 

“It started when I left for the Kerberos mission,” Shiro began.

 

“Yeah, and that’s when we found out about the Galran attack on Altea,” Keith finished, too impatient for Shiro to retell that story when he already knew it.

 

“Anyway,” Shiro said flatly, “when Father sent me to meet with some of the refugees, I saw how the military was treating them. Alteans were being slaughtered by the Galran forces chasing them, and we shot non-discriminately on the crowds, killing many more Alteans than Galrans. It was easier to kill them all instead of trying to just go for the Galrans. I fought with the general, but he said that these were Father’s orders directly and that they could not be altered.”

 

“I thought only a handful of soldiers were sent down there to ensure the refugees crossed safely. There weren’t supposed to be Galran forces down there,” Keith responded, bewildered and angry.

 

“It was supposed to be a secret. I ended up sneaking into the Altean countryside and sending refugees through the mountains. It would be a harder journey, but it was too deep into Altean territory for the Galrans to pursue, so the military wouldn’t be there.”

 

“Through the pass? That’s the opposite side of the border, Shiro,” Keith stated incredulously. That would have added at least a week to their journeys.

 

“I know, but the southern routes weren’t safe. Eventually, I was fortunate, and Allura passed through the region. She set up Alteans to direct refugees north, and I went with her to go through the pass. We got stuck in a blizzard, and frostbite started to set in. It slowly got worse, and once we made it through the pass, I went straight to the Holt residence in Greenro. Colleen said my arm had to be amputated, so that’s why it is gone.”

 

“So why didn’t you return?”

 

Shiro ran his hand through his hair, breathing in deeply. Moments passed, he breathed out, paused again, then continued, “Pidge heard me talking to Colleen about what was going on at the southern border of Altea and Voltron. He insisted we contact Hunk and Lance, steal a ship, and take matters into our own hands. I told him no, but Allura agreed with him. She said it was the only way for us to stop the Galran empire because Voltron wasn’t helping. I ended up caving in, and we picked up Hunk in Yellowry on our way to the docks of Blueine, where we met Lance. We collected some supplies and stole a small ship that was about to fall apart. Pidge and Hunk fixed it enough that we could take another ship by force. We’ve done it a few times. This one,” Shiro said, slapping the mast, “is the finest ship of the Altean fleet, but we reclaimed it from Galran forces.”

 

“All of Altea fell to Galran forces after you left,” Keith nearly yelled. “Of course, it would be taken from the Galran fleet! Voltron was only sent a few!” Shiro dared to tell him it was the only way when they didn’t change anything?

 

“I know, Keith,” Shiro said sternly. “That doesn’t change the fact that the country is bending under the pressure of the Galra Empire. We’re the ones who won’t,” he explained, his voice softening.

 

Keith frowned. “Why didn’t you take me?”

 

Shiro sighed. “We couldn’t have stopped by the castle. I wanted to tell you that I was okay, but I couldn’t.”

 

“We were told that you died in a skirmish with the Galrans. You were the important heir. That’s when people started joining the military by the thousands,” Keith whispered. “The king wouldn’t let me leave. He started parading me around as the heir. He forced me to study all the things you specialized in; I couldn’t leave; I couldn’t have fun; I couldn’t run.”

 

“I heard,” Shiro responded, his voice just above a whisper.

 

The two sat in silence for a while. Keith stared out over the horizon. Maybe if he looked far enough, he’d be able to really see. No one knows anything. What’s it even matter? That’s not true, he knows he feels angry and hurt. Shiro left him, and then when they finally saw each other, Shiro told him that it’s what had to be done, but that’s not necessarily true. But you can’t change the past. It doesn’t matter. He wanted to think about something else. He had a cigarette, didn’t he?

 

“Do you have a match?” Keith muttered, putting the cigarette back between his lips.

 

Shiro rummaged about on his person before pulling out a matchbox and picking out one. “Here,” he breathed, striking the match and lighting the paper.

 

Keith breathed in shallowly. His lungs would always protest when he had cigarettes for the first time in a while, and it had been a few months. He coughed the smoke out anyway. Cigarettes always tasted so bitter. He didn’t know why he still smoked them. He took another short drag and coughed again. After a few puffs, he could inhale comfortably, taking a long drag. It was such a nice stretching feeling, and some of his worries felt like they melted away. Keith sighed out the smoke.

 

“That’s an unhealthy habit, you know,” Shiro mentioned. Keith watched Shiro’s eyes as they followed the quickly dissipating cloud.

 

Keith looked at “his unhealthy habit” pinched between his fingers. “It isn’t a habit if I don’t do it habitually,” Keith retorted with a twitch of his eyebrow before pressing the cigarette back to his lips and sucking in. “Besides,” Keith continued once he lowered his hand, smoke pouring out from his lips, “why’d you give it to me if you don’t want me to smoke?”

 

“I know you like it, and you haven’t had much of a chance to indulge here. I thought it might make you feel better despite the context of the conversation.”

 

Keith didn’t respond. He rested his head on the beam next to him, looking at Shiro’s earnest face as he took another drag. Shiro still bothered to remember that, even if he hadn’t come back. He was still alive, and he wasn’t pushing Keith away now that they were together. Maybe it would be okay. However, there are still unanswered questions.

 

 “What happened between you and Allura?” Keith asked, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. The ocean always fell to be eerily red at this time, Keith noticed, like it was calling to him, trying to consume him.

 

Shiro scratched his neck. “When Allura was sent to finalize the marriage between you two, we had plenty of time together. We bonded over our uninterest in the marriages prescribed to us.”

 

Keith chuckled. “You never wanted a harem,” he recalled.

 

“What would I do with five wives? It seemed ridiculous! It still does,” Shiro mused. “Allura never wanted to be married to ‘a diplomatic pawn,’ as she put it.”

 

“Thanks,” Keith said flatly, taking another slow drag.

 

“To be fair, it’s not like it was a secret that your marriage was arranged to reinforce the Voltron-Altea Allegiance,” Shiro pointed out, waving smoke out of his face. “But she was really special. She taught me about Altean history and taught me how to write in Altean. We discussed our ancient strategies and what we could make in the future. What we might be able to make together,” Shiro said softly, his voice wistful. He hesitated, before continuing in his normal tone, “When Allura had made an emergency return to Altea due to the Galran Crisis, we said we’d write, but her letters never came. I thought she had died. That’s why I asked to be sent to take care of the refugees; I hoped to find her. I did, and, in the mountains, she wouldn’t abandon me in my struggles. She risked her life to save my life up there. We shared stories to try to keep our minds off the cold, got to know each other, played old games. We got close from our time together.”

 

Keith sighed. Shiro would be the one to fall for her. They were rather similar, considering their traits. However, this doesn’t change the fact that he put Allura over him when making his decision to leave, and that hurt. Sure, Shiro may like her, but Keith is his brother. They did everything together when they were small, and they always had each other’s backs when they got older. Keith couldn’t help but feel a tinge of resentment for Allura. He tried to quell his thoughts through smoking.

 

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but, please—” Shiro started, before another voice cut him off.

 

“What are you guys doing up there?” Hunk shouted from the deck, his neck tilted back in a manner that had to be uncomfortable. “I’ve been looking for you two. You missed dinner.”

 

Keith chuckled to himself. “I was told that the rules for eating dinner were very strict, but they tend to be ignored frequently,” he commented to Shiro around his cigarette.

 

Shiro smiled at Keith in acknowledgment of what he said, then turned his head down to Hunk. “It’s not so odd, Hunk. What makes tonight different?” Shiro called down.

 

Hunk leaned against the side of the deck dramatically. “I’m bored out of my mind, Shiro,” Hunk whined back. “Please just come down and take the food before I die down here.”

 

“I guess we should go down,” Shiro said to Keith, tilting his head to look at his brother.

 

Keith took one last long breath from his cigarette before responding, “Alright.” He ground the stub into his shoe as he blew the smoke out, stuffing the remains into his pocket before beginning his descent with Shiro following closely.

 

“Thank you,” Hunk breathed with what Keith assumed was relief as he held out two plates for them. Shiro and Keith took them, so Hunk took that as his cue to continue, “Everyone came in early for dinner and left practically all at once. I couldn’t handle being in the kitchen alone any longer. Sometimes the cramped spaces drive me insane.”

 

“I’m sure everyone can understand,” Shiro said after swallowing a bite of his food. Keith wasn’t sure what it was, but it smelled okay, so he wouldn’t complain. Shiro added, “Thank you for the food.”

 

“Thank you,” Keith quickly agreed, trying to cover up his mistake.

 

“It’s just my job,” Hunk said with a laugh. Hunk turned his body so that his arm was resting against the rails as his side leaned into the barrier on the deck, facing Shiro. “Speaking of work, what’s the next mission with the Galra? We haven’t had one in a while.”

 

Shiro scratched his forehead. “Right now, we’re just working on reconnaissance. Our previous information turned out to be incorrect, so our original plans have been put on hold. At this rate, we’ll probably have to dock somewhere to resupply.”

 

“How’d you get false information?” Keith interjected, his mouth still half full.

 

Shiro looked at Keith. “Our system of information is mostly done through spies and information gathered through bribery and allegiances. Sometimes it isn’t correct.” Shiro grimaced at the critical frown Keith directed towards him. “It’s not easy collecting this data. We have to be careful, so we don’t stumble into too much of their fleet, but it is also unwise to drift too far away, or our information will be even more unreliable, and we won’t have time to react,” Shiro explained defensively, adding, “Besides, we’re not exactly on the best terms with Voltron right now.”

 

“Probably because you attack their ships,” Keith muttered. “What even happened to my crew?”

 

“They’re fine,” Shiro assured him, before quietly adding “If they were smart.”

 

“What does that mean?” Keith snapped.

 

“The ship was damaged to prevent them from returning too quickly, allowing us to escape before Voltron sent ships to trail us. We also sent them on a course to the nearest port. However, if they panicked or made dangerously rash decisions, they might not have made it, but that would have been their fault.”

 

“That still doesn’t excuse kidnapping and the damages you caused,” Keith snarled.

 

“Did you not listen to what I told you earlier?” Shiro asked, his voice rising. “Voltron is corrupt. They’ve stopped caring about innocent lives, and they just use their military power for their own gain. They say they’re just defending themselves from the Galran Empire, but they’re just using it as a disguise to consolidate power for those better off, leaving everyone else to rot.”

 

“Yeah,” Hunk agreed. “Don’t you remember the old paladins that started the country? They came from all over the world in the desire to create a place that would protect the globe, not just through military strength, but also diplomatic prowess and its compassion. The paladins of old mysteriously disappeared after a period of prosperity, and slowly the government has corrupted and deviated from the original goals.”

 

“Why does this matter? We all had Voltron history lessons,” Keith grumbled.

 

“We named the boat Voltron,” Hunk started, “Because we’re the new paladins of Voltron. Our country has been led astray, but we still fight for what Voltron was created for. We have a representative from each of the five regions...,” Hunk paused, “Except from Redanai.”

 

Keith furrowed his brows. “You guys aren’t a full country, though.”

 

“We don’t have to be to fight for the spirit rooted in Voltron,” Hunk insisted. “You might be able to become the Paladin of Redanai,” Hunk added more quietly.

 

Keith froze. Was Hunk asking him to join? Was that even allowed? Did he have the right to offer that to him? Keith looked at Shiro when he put his hand on Keith’s shoulder.

 

“Don’t worry, Keith. He isn’t forcing you,” Shiro consoled him. Shiro said “he.” Does that mean Hunk is the only one that wants him to stay? Wasn’t he supposed to be there for a reason? Wasn’t he just a pawn, a bargaining chip? That’s all people ever saw him as, always a pawn, just a support for the important players of the game. But what Hunk was offering might change that.

 

That doesn’t change the fact that they’ve done things they shouldn’t have. They shouldn’t risk people who could be innocent just because they might not be. They shouldn’t kidnap people either.

 

“I—” Keith started, but was cut off by another voice.

 

“Hey,” Lance greeted the three. “What are you all doing standing out here?”

 

Hunk waved to Lance. “Just taking a break,” Hunk replied.

 

“I can get behind that,” Lance said with a smile, sauntering over to them. Keith tensed up at his arrival, having hoped that he would leave.

 

“Hunk was just telling Keith a little bit about our history,” Shiro informed Lance.

 

Lance raised one of his eyebrows, glancing at Keith, then to Hunk. “Oh?”

 

“Yeah,” Hunk chirped. “About us being the new paladins of Voltron, you know?”

 

Lance chuckled. “Alright, well, don’t let me stop you,” he responded, leaning against the mast.

 

“I thought that maybe Keith could finish the circle. We don’t have any other crew from Redanai, and he’s getting along fine,” Hunk told Lance excitedly. Keith’s brows furrowed; he wasn’t crew.

 

“Woah, hold on,” Lance said with a laugh. “Keith isn’t even crew. He doesn’t even have a role.”  _I’m a prisoner,_  Keith added to himself. Hunk’s proposal had seemed far-fetched, but now Lance made it sound impossible.

 

“It isn’t Keith’s fault he doesn’t have a job, Lance,” Shiro commented.

 

“I said I’d figure something out for him once his leg got better,” Lance defended himself.

 

“My leg is better. Didn’t you see that when we worked together last time?” Keith jumped in. Even if he didn’t join for one reason or another, Lance couldn’t just ignore him and leave him bored in a cell every other day.

 

“I’ll find you good work personally, don’t worry about it,” Lance insisted to Keith. “Besides, even if you don’t stick around, you’ll be here for a while, and I won’t stand for people who eat yet don’t do shit to repay us for the food and shelter we’re giving them.”

 

Keith regarded Lance briefly. How does this guy act like he’s doing Keith a favor? “I would hardly consider imprisoning someone as a debt they should repay,” Keith grumbled.

 

Lance looked incredulous. “I’ve been very generous with letting you move around,” Lance defended. “Anyway, we can talk about what’s next once you get a job.”

 

Keith looked at him, surprised. He hasn’t turned down Keith staying. Does that mean he might be able to stay? Keith inhaled, mentally preparing a response, but Lance beat him to the punch.

 

“Hunk,” Lance started, slapping his friend’s shoulder, “We need to continue our conversation from earlier.”

 

Hunk agreed, and the two left. Keith looked at Shiro expectantly, but he just shrugged back.

 

The two stood in silence for a while, looking out over the horizon. Shiro was the first to break the silence. “I missed having you around,” Shiro murmured.

 

Keith looked at him in the corner of his eye and sighed. “Yeah,” Keith said in agreement. His brother wasn’t a different person, but he was anyway.

 

“You can always—,“ Shiro began before someone else caught his attention.

 

“Shiro, Keith!” Allura called out to the two in greeting. Keith looked over his shoulder to see her approaching, thinking that Shiro switches focus quickly when she shows up.

 

“Allura,” Shiro acknowledged her, nodding. “Where’s Coran?” He asked as she approached, extending his arm to draw her into a brief embrace.

 

“He was tired, so I let him take a break,” she explained, leaning into him for a moment.

 

“Be careful not to push yourself too much either,” Shiro reminded her, pulling her back to peck her cheek.

 

Keith felt uncomfortable in this situation. Even though they weren’t hugging, they were standing rather close to each other. It hurt a little that Shiro would leave his brother for Allura, and even after all this time apart, Shiro still puts most of his focus on her. He cleared his throat as they teased each other through endearing advice and pleasantries. “I’m going to work on something,” he informed them before turning and walking away.

 

Keith heard the two say his name, then Shiro quickly said something to Allura as he walked away. He felt Shiro’s hand wrap around his forearm.

 

“Keith,” Shiro said, his face serious. “We shouldn’t end this conversation now.”

 

Keith looked him over, his lip drawl slightly upward. “You seemed to end it when Allura showed up.”

 

Shiro frowned. “The conversation also paused when Hunk showed up.”

 

“Not immediately.”

 

“We hadn’t restarted it when she arrived,” Shiro said, frustration making his voice sharp. He sighed, and he continued with a softer voice, “Keith, I’m sorry for not going back for you and for not paying more attention to you. Will you forgive me?”

 

Keith looked at Shiro’s earnest expression. He didn’t feel much better, and he still felt the wounds of Shiro being gone, presumably dead. They would probably be around forever. But he couldn’t hold that against Shiro for the rest of their lives. Keith didn’t want to. “Okay,” Keith sighed.

 

Shiro beamed at Keith. “Thank you.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Sure,” he said, turned and beginning to walk away. Before he descended, though, he saw something blur the stars and followed the streak to a light in the water. “Shiro?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Is that a signal fire?” Keith asked, pointing out to the sea.

 

Shiro leaned out over the barrier of the deck. “It would be foolish to use a smoke signal in the dark, but it’s not impossible. Let’s check it out.” Shiro jogged over to the other side of the deck, Keith following closely behind, listening as Shiro called to a crew member that Keith didn’t recognize to turn off the starboard bow. Shiro started climbing up to the crow’s nest.

 

Keith heard the change in direction echo across the deck as crew members hurried to positions to help the ship turn as he followed Shiro up, his hands grazing Shiro’s shoes as they climbed.

 

“Rondy! I thought Jacobs was posted up here tonight,” Keith heard Shiro say as he climbed onto the platform.

 

“I was feeling better, and so I offered to do take the position,” Rondy replied, glancing at Keith. Keith was taken aback by this fellow, from his scrawny body to his scraggly beard. He looked like the wind could knock him straight into the water, and the moon made him glow a ghastly white. Such a sickly man shouldn’t be on a ship, Keith thought to himself.

 

“Just make sure I know when changes are made. We need to know where members are if they’re supposed to be somewhere,” Shiro chided him, but quickly moved on, pointing out to where they had seen the smoke. “Have you seen anything out that direction?”

 

Rondy squinted his eyes and leaned forward, forcing Keith to lean back to avoid getting a shoulder in his rib cage. “I thought the stars where being blurred out, but I figured it was just birds.”

 

Keith looked at Shiro, silently questioning if this guy was the best choice for this job, but Shiro paid him no mind. “Was it heading up or east?”

 

Rondy thoughtfully tapped his chin. After a moment of silence, he said, “I don’t know.”

 

Shiro squeezed his eyes shut and let out the smallest sigh. “Okay, then let us know if—," Shiro was cut off by Rondy.

 

“Do you see that light out there?” He asked, pointing out to the sea.

 

Keith and Shiro both looked out to see Rondy was right. A faint light was bouncing on the water. That had to be from someone, but not a large ship.

 

“That has to be a signal fire,” Shiro said, quietly adding “but not a very strong one.”

 

Rondy scratched his head. “But we’re awfully far out for there to be a lifeboat. It can’t be a ship of decent size to house someone for very long unless wherever it came from is nearby.”

 

“You’re right,” Shiro agreed. “Have you noticed any other ships out here?”

 

“I’ve only been on post for a little while, but nobody said anything about seeing anything,” Rondy mumbled.

 

“They might have been able to make it for a few days,” Keith pointed out.

 

“Either way, we shouldn’t leave them out there to die,” Shiro stated, beginning to climb back down. “Thanks, Rondy!”

 

Keith followed Shiro, nodding to Rondy as he left, but Rondy was already looking out again. Keith couldn’t help but pause a moment, looking at him as he left. Rondy was a strange man.

 

Keith saw Shiro up by the navigator, pointing out to different directions and probably giving some orders when he hit the deck. Keith jogged over but collided with another crew member in the process.

 

“Keith?” He heard Lance call, seemingly frustrated.

 

Keith, looking up from the feet he planted to keep his balance, saw Lance in a rather similar position. “What?” he hissed back in frustration. Why was it always this guy?

 

“Do you ever watch where you’re going?” Lance demanded.

 

“It’s not just my fault!” Keith exclaimed. This guy could get on his nerves like no other, and that just made him angrier. Keith turned to run to Shiro as planned, ignoring Lance calling out to him

 

Keith could hear Shiro instruct the navigator about which way to get the ship to keep them from getting too off course but close enough that they would probably intercept. Keith didn’t have time to stop near them before Lance was already caught up.

 

“What is going on?” Lance demanded over the chatter on deck as people helped execute the orders.

 

“We saw a signal. We’re certain that it is one of distress, so we’re going out to check it out,” Shiro explained, cutting off his line of orders, leaving the navigator in charge with a pat.

 

“All the way out here?” Lance responded incredulously.

 

“That’s what we thought,” Shiro said, glancing at Keith in acknowledgment, before continuing. “However, we cannot leave them in distress. We must give them the benefit of the doubt here. They will most likely die if we don’t.”

 

Lance looked out over the deck before shrugging to himself. “Might as well keep going if we’ve gotten this far in our change in course,” Lance mumbled, almost as if to himself.

 

“We should be upon them soon,” Shiro informed him.

 

“We need to prepare to drop one of the boats and guide them through a transfer,” Lance noted, his gaze falling to the boats that rested on the deck, the ropes that bound them to the masts slack. “I could use some help setting one up. Are you busy?” Lance asked Shiro.

 

Shiro grimaced apologetically. “I have some other work I need to attend to; Keith can help.”

 

Lance looked at Keith with a frown, before turning his head to look for another idle crewman, Keith suspected. He soon gave up and gave in, though, and said, “Alright, mullet, you’re with me,” without fully regaining eye contact with Keith.

 

Keith glanced at Shiro, who shrugged back, then followed Lance. He could work with him if it is for the sake of other people, Keith supposed. Lance hadn’t really harassed him yet, so that was a plus, although calling him “mullet” was confusing and vaguely inflammatory. Keith brushed the thoughts off.

 

“I just need you to keep control of the boat to keep it from hitting someone, then help guide it to hang on the other side so that it doesn’t swing too much,” Lance instructed him, vaguely gesturing at the row boat next to him. “We need to do this to—” Lance started, but Keith cut him off.

 

“I know; you don’t have to explain,” Keith pointed out, trying to avoid conflict but uneager to waste time hearing what he already knew. They would send it over, set it in the water, then they would transfer their things and themselves into the boat, and they’d pull it back up onto the boat. A simple procedure for ships not equipped for rescue in situations like this. Keith spent a great deal of time training of military ships, so he didn’t need Lance to re-explain it.

 

Lance pursed his lips as if he wanted to say something in retort, but instead just said, “fine.” Lance walked over a few meters and turned back to Keith. “Come here; you need to help me up.”

 

Keith’s eyes followed where Lance was pointing. Lance probably could get there himself, but it wasn’t worth the fight this time. He walked over and started to bend to clasp his hands to act as a step for Lance, but hesitated. “Can’t you take off those shoes first?” Keith grumbled.

 

Lance twisted to look at his heels. “But they look great on me. I wouldn’t want our new guests to see me barefoot like I don’t have the decency to keep my feet clean from the dirty deck,” Lance argued. Keith couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.

 

“The deck is clean enough. You can put them back on when you come down, but you’ll hurt me if you don’t take them off,” Keith countered. “Come on, hurry up.”

 

Lance huffed, bending down to pull off his shoes. “You would be fine. You’re lucky I’m so considerate,” Lance grumbled. When Keith saw his shoes safely off, he bent down to offer his hand. Lance stepped onto Keith’s hand, and Keith hoisted him up with a grunt.

 

“You’re heavier than you look,” Keith gritted out as he helped Lance up the last few inches to get to the perch of interest.

 

“That’s what happens when you have muscle like me,” Lance responded. Again, Keith was left unsure of how he should interpret that statement. Before he had time to think about it much, Lance was already moving to make the ropes more taunt, forcing Keith to retreat to the boat to prevent it from moving too much.

 

Keith watched Lance work as he kept the boat stable, noticing the steady rhythm Lance had while pulling and tying ropes and twining them through pulleys. Maybe he wasn’t wrong about some of the muscle; he did appear to be a bit strong. Probably not enough to make him that heavy, though. Maybe the time not doing much left Keith’s muscles a bit atrophied; he was doing fine with Pidge earlier, though. He felt the boat rock into his chest, almost knocking him over. He regained control over it and redirected his focus back on it. Soon the boat was pushed carefully over the side of the boat and was hovering there as the light quickly approached.

 

“Are you in need of some help?” Keith heard someone call to the ship, following the sound to see Shiro leaning over the deck with his hands cupped around his mouth.

 

“That would be rather kind of you,” a voice called back.

 

Keith heard Lance call someone’s name and instruct them to mount the boat they were going to lower. When the crewman that Keith didn’t recognize was safely in the boat to help the newcomers and the raft was close enough for the light from the ship to illuminate the faces of two tired strangers, Lance dropped the boat, and the strangers were loaded in.

 

More crew members crowded Keith to help the process of bringing the boat back onto the deck and aiding the strangers, cuing Keith to slip out of the crowd. He noticed Lance dropping down, lowering himself with one of the ropes that was guiding the pulleys lifting the boat. He took the rope with him as he used his feet to feel for his shoes. He slipped into them without taking his eyes off the rope. When the row boat was safely on board, Keith finally caught a glimpse of the visitors. One was a tall female, her hair separated into four braids, her lithe frame evident in her undershirt. The other was a yet taller male, scruffy looking and in similarly scant clothing. Keith figured they had used their outer clothing to help fuel their signal.

 

“Welcome to a haven! You’re now aboard the vessel  _Voltron_ , and I am the captain,” Lance announced extravagantly as he stepped forward to part the crowd and greet the newcomers. “My name is Lance,” he introduced himself, taking the hand of the woman and kissing it. “What are yours?”

 

The man spoke first. “My name is Rolo, and her name is Nyma,” he said, his voice friendly but clearly fatigued.

 

The woman, Nyma, spoke next. “We escaped from a ship in the territory, but we couldn’t bring much. We thought we were going to die out there. If it would not be much trouble, could we travel with you?”

 

“We will leave at your next stop, we promise,” Rolo added.

 

Shiro and Allura moved forward to move to Lance and offer advice, Keith assumed, but Lance didn’t wait. “Of course, it’s what we do, helping people like you!”

 

Keith narrowed his eyes, looking over the new-comers with scrutiny. This whole situation seemed a little odd, but no one could speak up before the two were swept away to be given food and a place to sleep. Along with the dispersion of the crew, Keith was swept along and ended up back in his own cell, left to consider the events over the night. Today had been a lot. Perhaps it would be better to give him time to think it over, Keith decided, eventually drifting to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it wasn't too much exposition. I have trouble with...emotions. Even though I'm not the best writer here, nor the most productive nor original, I appreciate your guy's support. Your comments are really nice, and each kudos makes me smile. Thanks for sticking around. Sorry, but, yeah, I have a Nyma/Rolo part.


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